


Around the Corner

by Owlship



Series: In the Middle of Our Street [1]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everything is kittens and nothing hurts, F/M, Fluff, Furiosa Adopts the Sisters, Kid Fic, Max Has A Dog, Mutual Pining, Petshop AU, The Sisters ship Max/Furiosa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4554561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlship/pseuds/Owlship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Max has a pet shop (named The Pet Shop), a dog (named Dog), and a massive crush on single-mother Furiosa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I accidentally started thinking about Max owning a petshop and it was all downhill from there. This is pretty much the fluffiest fluff I could muster, other than a few references to ~tragic pasts~ the worst thing that happens is some fish die off-screen.
> 
> I did some research but this is unbeta'ed and I have no experience owning a pet store, much less one in Australia, so if you see something wrong feel free to point it out!

The bell over the door jangles and Max's eyes instantly flick over to size up whoever it is that's walking in. His shop is small and never particularly busy, a blessing that allows him to handle things with just one assistant.

At his feet Dog perks up, lifting his head but otherwise staying perched on his pillow. He doesn't react to most customers, so Max assumes it's a regular with a wash of relief.

His relief is short-lived, because the woman who just walked in is instantly recognizable with her close-cropped hair and prosthetic arm, today clutched in the hand of her youngest daughter who looks close to tears. One of the older ones, the redhead his assistant fancies, trails behind with an ominously-shrouded bundle in her arms.

He waits for them to set whatever it is down on the counter before greeting the woman with a short nod, the girls with restrained smiles. He's not good at interacting with people, but they've been visiting his shop for years now and have yet to be scared off by his demeanor, which tends to grow even more reticent in Furiosa's presence. She's intimidating, and beautiful, and despite the number of children she's adopted has never once mentioned a partner.

“Go on,” Furiosa says to her smallest, pulling away the towel. Underneath is a small plastic container with a sluggishly-swimming fish in it. It's the same fish he sold them almost a week ago, a blue-and-white betta that he warned might not be the healthiest choice.

“Sparks isn't feeling good,” Cheedo says, “He's swimming funny.”

Max hums and stoops to take a closer look at the fish, though there's not much more to be seen. The betta is struggling to dive below the surface, pulled to the top as if filled with air, occasionally flopping over onto its side entirely and just floating, defeated.

“Hmm. Been eating?” he asks the girl. Capable whispers something to her mother and then strolls away down the labyrinthine aisles.

Cheedo nods, “He can't catch the pellets that sink. We turned off the filter 'cause he didn't like it.”

“When did it start?”

“Friday,” the girl says, “I got home from school and he was like that. Mom said we could take him in on Monday.”

Max nods and pulls away from the container. “Only feed him every-other-day,” he says to Cheedo before focusing on her mother for the more complex part of the instructions. “Add epsom salt to the water. One teaspoon per four liters, dissolved.”

“I thought salt was bad for fish,” Furiosa says, eyebrow raised skeptically.

“Different salt,” he replies, “Draws out water; his swim-bladder is stuck.” Max can see her turning the information over in her mind before she dips her chin in acceptance.

“Do you carry that here?” she asks, and he shakes his head.

“Drug store,” he replies, “Make sure it's plain- no scents, dyes.”

“Is Sparks going to get better?” Cheedo asks, face scrunched as she stares intently at the struggling fish.

Even if Max were the type to coddle, this particular family has run through a half-dozen fish since starting their tank, starting with an ill-advised carnival goldfish “rescue” and by now the girl is well-acquainted with their fragility.

“Maybe,” he says, “Could be too much food, something he was born with... Could be an infection.” He shrugs, knowing there really isn't much he can do. If they keep the water clean and add in the epsom it's got as much of a chance as the rest. This one at least doesn't have burned ammonia-red gills, or a haze of fuzzy mold covering it's scales, or any of the other problems that have killed their first attempts.

“Furi-Mom, come look!” The older daughter darts into view with his assistant Nux trailing behind her, a besotted look on his face. She's clutching a half-grown kitten in her arms, one of the ones he partners with the town shelter to display for adoption. It's a sweet-tempered thing, and purrs happily where it's snugged against her chest.

“Capable,” Furiosa says with a sigh, “We're not getting a cat.”

“But she's such a darling,” she replies in a wheedling tone, “And Nux was telling me how all her littermates are already adopted so she's all alone...”

“No,” Furiosa replies, “We talked about this. Unless you want to explain to Toast why her rabbits can't leave their cage anymore, no cats.”

The redhead deflates. “What if she lived outside?”

Max finds himself speaking up to protest the idea. “Outdoor cats are a bad idea,” he says, “They get hurt, or run away, and kill wildlife.”

Furiosa shoots him a grateful look before turning back to her daughter. “See? No cats.” Capable heaves a dramatic sigh and turns back down the aisle, muttering in low tones under her breath.

“Can I pet Dog?” Cheedo asks, already edging towards the dog. The greyhound's friendly and Max has let her cuddle him before, but he appreciates her manners in asking.

“Go ahead,” he says, and she flashes a bright smile at him that he reflexively returns before approaching the dog bed with her hand out-stretched. “Under his chin,” Max reminds her, once Dog's finished giving her a perfunctory sniff.

“You always say that,” Furiosa says, drawing his attention back to her. “I thought dogs liked getting their heads rubbed?” She looks more like she's making conversation than asking out of real curiosity, but he seizes the topic anyway.

“Dog was a racer,” he says, “Trainers would whack him if he did something wrong. Go over his head, he thinks it's a threat.”

“I didn't know he raced.”

Max smiles and hums affirmatively. “Had a silly name and everything. There's all sorts of adoption programs, when they get too old. Or hurt, like Dog was.”

“I thought Dog was his name,” Cheedo says from where she's crouched next to the dog bed, peering up at him suspiciously.

“It is now,” he replies. “Used to be ' _Pursuit Special_ ' but neither of us liked it. Now he's just Dog.”

A heavy thump at the counter jerks his gaze back that way- but it's just Capable, slamming down a bag of rabbit food. “Are we ready?” she asks sullenly, her previous good humor vanished.

He studiously ignores Furiosa's sigh and the silent looks the two exchange as he rings up the bag. Dog actually gets up off his bed when Cheedo stands to leave, an unprecedented display of favor that has the girl grinning and landing a kiss goodbye on his long black nose.

“If the fish doesn't make it,” Max starts as Furiosa bundles the container back up inside the towel.

“Bring the body for a replacement, I know,” she says with a faint smile. “How you stay in business when you keep giving away fish is beyond me.”

He gives her a crooked smile in return as she walks away, already having explained that the small livestock sales are nothing compared to people replacing food, litter, toys- in the business world, the animals themselves are just the tip of the iceberg.

“You're going to actually ask her out someday, right?” Nux asks from far too close, startling Max from where he was idly watching the door swing back closed behind the family. “Capable says Furiosa hasn't dated anyone in ages, not since before she arrived.”

Max tries to give the boy a stern look. He should remind him that she's a customer, and if anything barely counts as a friend, but instead finds himself saying, “Have you asked out Capable yet?”

By the way Nux flushes a deep red and stammers something about rushing into things before retreating back away from the counter, Max feels as though he's won that round.

 

 

The fish passes a few days later, plastic bag containing its limp body carried to the counter by a teary-faced Cheedo. This time the middle children Dag and Toast are accompanying their mother, Toast hauling the bag of rabbit feed that they had just purchased. With Nux gone for the day it was just Max and a sleepy Dog to mind the store.

“The fish died,” Furiosa says by way of explanation, “And we bought the wrong brand of food.”

“'Cause Capable was too busy throwing a hissy fit to pay attention,” Toast mutters, loud enough for them all to hear before wandering away from the counter. Max spares a glance to make sure she's headed for the rabbit section before bringing his attention back to the receipt Furiosa is holding out.

He takes it but doesn't start the return process, instead moves out from behind the counter to stand before Cheedo. His knee won't allow him to crouch to get on her level, not after a long day of being on his feet, but he still ducks his shoulders to make it clear he's speaking to her.

“Do you want my help picking this time?” he says gently, and she sniffs loudly but nods her head. The first five fish the family bought from him suffered from just about every new-tank scenario imaginable (failed bio-cycle, acclimation shock, forgotten de-chlorinator, toxic decorations...), but the latest two were casualties of the girl's soft heart, wanting to save the “unhappy” sickly fish. As a general rule Max tries to keep only healthy animals, but there were always ones that slipped through the cracks.

He gently takes the plastic baggie she's clutching from her hands and places it on the counter before leading the way to the back of the store where the aquatics are kept.

“She thinks it's her fault,” Furiosa says quietly, “She forgot to not feed him like normal.”

Max shakes his head and makes a dismissive noise, if the fish had died that quickly then it was probably some sort of infection. He'd had a tank of rasboras turn sickly and die off in quarantine the same week, so it could even have been the supplier's fault.

The bettas he keeps in a specially made barracks system, a compromise between the awful plastic cups most places sell them in and the proper tanks they should have. They're small but filtered and heated, and bettas as healthy as his tend to sell quickly enough that they don't spend a lot of time in the cubicles anyway.

“Do you have green ones?” Cheedo asks, peering at the lowest row intently, tears forgotten. Dag tugs at her mother's sleeve and points off towards the reptile section excitedly, darting off a moment later.

“No green,” Max says, “There's a yellow one-” he points to the second row, where an orange-yellow crowntail swims around in lazy circles.

“His tail is weird,” Cheedo says with a grimace.

Max nods to himself, and surveys the racks for a fish that might interest her. There's a mottled red double-tail he dismisses, a blue butterfly plakat that probably would remind her too much of the last fish, a tri-colored veiltail that looks like it's been chewing on its own tail.

He's startled when Furiosa gently presses a finger to the front of one of the cubicles, not having noticed her stepping so close. “How about this one?” she asks, directing the question at him as much as her daughter.

The betta inside is a ghostly white delta-tail that flares his fins gamely at her finger, following it as she drags it across the glass in small movements. When Cheedo sees it she gasps, a grin breaking out on her face.

Max leans in closer to inspect the fish, vaguely remembering it as coming from one of the newer shipments. Its fins are clear of rips, gills a healthy pink, back straight, active as it engages with the outside. It looks to be as healthy as any pet-store betta could be expected to be, and he hums approvingly.

“Tank still set up?” he asks, unlocking the storage compartment to get a plastic travel bag.

“We changed the water,” Furiosa replies, “To get the salt out.”

He nods, probably worked to clear out any bacteria that might be lingering as well, but a healthy fish shouldn't have much trouble. As soon as the betta is scooped up into the bag Cheedo takes it with careful hands and starts walking to the counter, a serious expression on her face.

Furiosa looks as if she's about to say something but Dag runs up, diverting her attention. “Furi-Mom, please can I get a lizard, please?” She starts tugging at Furiosa's shirt hem, trying to drag her towards the display. “This one is so cool, please oh please?”

“Dag, no,” Furiosa replies, trying to disentangle her hands from her shirt. “You agreed to help with the fish.”

“It's Cheedo's dumb fish,” Dag retorts, “Please they're so cool, just look? Please? Come look please?” Her voice stretches out into a whine and Max feels horribly awkward, recognizing it as a family matter but not knowing if his leaving would help the situation any.

“No,” Furiosa repeats firmly, “Not today.” There's a moment of silence before the girl starts shrieking, drawing up her hands into fists and trying to hit her mother.

Alarmed, Max moves to- he's not sure, restrain Dag maybe- but Furiosa meets his eyes and shakes her head. He steps back and watches as she catches the flailing hands gently, drops to her knees to pull the girl into a restraining hug that does nothing to stop her screaming but does at least solve the problem of her hurting herself or anyone else.

After an unbearably long stretch of minutes the shrieking slows to gasping breaths, and he can hear Furiosa quietly speaking to the girl as the tantrum winds itself down. Max looks away to see Cheedo by the counter hugging Dog, Toast holding a bag of feed and looking deeply uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” Furiosa says loud enough to be directed at him, and his attention snaps back to her and the now quietly shaking child in her arms. “It's been a long day for her, but she insisted on coming.”

“No it, uh, it's alright,” Max manages to say, more concerned for Dag's welfare than any inconvenience the outburst caused. She looks older than the kids he's used to seeing have meltdowns, but he reflects on what little he knows of the types of kids that end up in the foster system to begin with and thinks it's maybe not so unexpected.

With Dag no longer in danger of hurting anyone Max does his best to give them space by walking back to the counter. He rings up the exchange for the rabbit food, marks down the new fish on the receipt. Cheedo's focused her entire attention on petting Dog over and over, while Toast stands tense and glares at him as if waiting for a disparaging remark about her sister.

He pretends not to notice, just passes the receipt to Furiosa when she gets to the front and makes sure Cheedo has a good hold on the fish's bag. Dog whines and nuzzles into his fingers as he watches the family leave, bell above the door tinkling merrily in their wake, and Max decides that now is as good a time as any to close up for the night.

 

 

It's an early Saturday morning, before the shop opens for the day but after the worst of the chores have been completed, so Max is idly restocking shelves and waiting for Nux to show up for his shift. The front door opens with a loud clatter and it startles him into dropping the bag of bedding he was holding, fluff exploding everywhere when it hits the ground and splits open.

“Max!” Nux's voice calls out cheerfully, “Max, guess what!” The aroma of coffee permeates the air, competing with the typically strong animal smell. It's unusual for Nux to bring coffee in, even more unusual to have two cups and what looks like a bag of pastries dangling from his hand when he rounds the corner into Max's line of sight. The boy breaks out into loud laughter, gesturing to where Max is covered in material from the exploded bag.

Max waits out the laughter, brushing off his front as well as he can and wondering where the broom went off to. Dog pads over, drawn by the noise, and Max absentmindedly rubs at his ears.

“Sorry, sorry,” Nux gasps, “You just-” He breaks off into another round of giggles before finally composing himself. “Got you coffee?” he says, “And some donuts. From The Grease Place.” He wiggles the bag enticingly, as if there was any way Max would turn down fresh pastries from the town's one and only diner guaranteed to not leave you with food poisoning, despite the ominous name.

“The same Grease Place,” Max says mock-seriously in reply, “where Capable works?” Instead of the deep red flush he was expecting, Nux's face breaks out into a huge grin.

“I asked her to go on a date with me and she said yes!” he says, looking as if he's about a second away from bouncing up and down with excitement.

Max feels a smile slip across his own face, pleased to see proof of how far Nux has come in the scant year he's been employed at the shop. He'd been nominally in the care of his absent older brother and looked to be headed straight for the waiting arms of the local gang, a sickly kid with a latent death-wish who needed some form of job to feed himself with. Max took a chance on him when she saw how careful he was with the animals, slow and quiet and gentle in contrast to his usual excitable demeanor.

The money Nux takes home isn't enough to pay for the medical bills he's accrued, but Max had helped him write out application after application to charities after the store closed for the day, carefully hidden lest the brother find them. If he joined the gang there was a doctor- a butcher more like- who took payment in forms other than cash. But Nux hadn't wanted to join, not once he saw there was a real way to make it outside the gang. Max couldn't take him in, was barely holding himself together most days, but it was enough to help push Nux back into school and away from either juvie or an early grave.

“I'll get the mess,” Nux offers magnanimously, holding out one of the coffees and the paper bag. Max takes the offering gratefully, calling Dog to follow him back to the counter to finish opening the register and gear up for the coming day.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regretfully this looks like another time when my brain can't answer comments directly, but you're all lovely, thank you so much for your kind words!! I've got 80% of this written out already, so hopefully updates will be every few days while I work on finishing it all up.
> 
> Here, have a kitten.

Max is just finishing locking up for the day when the shop phone rings. It goes to voicemail, playing the canned greeting that makes him cringe every time he hears it though he has yet to figure out a better one. “You've reached The Pet Shop, hours are 8am-6pm Monday to Saturday. Leave a message.”

“Max?” He recognizes Furiosa's voice immediately, even distorted by the phone, and it has him freezing in confusion. “It's Furiosa. I know you're closing but-” some garbled noise in the background that he can't make out overtakes her momentarily, “Sorry, just, the girls found a kitten and I know you're not a vet but-” she breaks off to sigh and Max grabs at the phone, almost disconnecting it in his haste.

Max clears his throat with an awkward grunt before breaking into the one-sided conversation, “Hey.” He doesn't think he's ever heard Furiosa sound less than perfectly composed, and the uncertainty in her voice now sits ill at ease with him.

“Max? Oh thank-” Furiosa breathes out in relief on the other end of the line, “Are you free? There's a kitten the girls found and it might be hurt, but Angharad's out with the car so I can't bring it anywhere. I just don't know anyone else who's good with animals.”

It's always an effort to carry a conversation when he has only sound to rely on, and he already finds himself nodding instead of actually vocalizing. “Yeah,” he says, “I can. Where do- what's the address?” Taking in a stray for the night wouldn't be too much trouble, even if it did mean he'd need to open the shop late in order to bring it to the pound.

“56 Warren Drive, near the border of Black River. I cannot thank you enough for this.”

Max hums, writing down the address on a scrap of paper. It's not very far from the shop, he doesn't think. “Carrier?” he asks, “I've boxes.”

“Could you bring something? It's just in the bathroom now. It would fit into the rabbits' carrier but-” it sounds like one of the girls is saying something in the background, Furiosa's muffled reply too indistinct to make out until she brings the phone back to her mouth a moment later- “Toast thinks the smell will bother the rabbits when they use it next.”

Max nods his head again before remembering himself. “Okay,” he says aloud, seeing the logic even if the plastic could be rinsed off between uses. But he has plenty of cardboard boxes for transporting animals stashed away, so it's not any more trouble.

“I'll be there soon,” he adds, and waits for Furiosa's acknowledgment before hanging up. Dog yawns from his bed, watching with his calm gaze as Max stares at the phone helplessly for a minute before setting it back into its cradle.

“Up,” he calls, snapping a leash onto Dog's harness when he finishes shaking himself out. Max didn't think to warn her that Dog was with him, but he can stay in the car if it's a problem. The heat of the day is long passed, and Max doesn't imagine that he'll be there for very long anyway.

The thought of going to Furiosa's house, even for just a quick favor like this, has something almost like anticipation churning in his belly. They've bumped into each other around town before, of course, exchanged a few words at the bank or crossed paths in the grocery store. It shouldn't be any different to stop by her house and pick up the stray, but as Max drives he finds himself restlessly tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, nervous for some unaccountable reason.

 

The house he pulls up to, the one his phone's directions say should be the right one, is a decently large two-story just on the edge of farmland. It looks well-kept, he thinks, the white paint weathered but the straight lines of the siding intact, plants neatly arranged into a garden that hugs the foundation. There's a paddling pool tucked under a tree, a careless tangle of differently-sized bicycles leaning against a small garage at the end of the driveway.

“Stay,” he tells Dog unnecessarily as he exits the car, making sure enough window is open for air but not so much that he could get himself into trouble.

He knocks on the screen door, a mutinous-looking Dag staring at him through the mesh. “You're here to take the kitten,” she says unhappily but is soon replaced by Furiosa, who looks rather more harassed than he's used to seeing.

“Glad you found the place,” Furiosa says, stepping aside to clear the doorway for him. “Come in, the cat's though here.”

“Dog's in the car,” Max manages to say before he fully leaves the front porch, “He was at the shop...”

“Dog's here?” Cheedo's voice rings out, “Can I see him?”

“Not now honey,” Furiosa says over her shoulder, “Next time we visit the store.”

Max steps fully into the house's living room and sees what appears to be a sort of organized chaos. It's clean but cluttered- homework and drawings sprawl across the low table Cheedo is sitting at, plants sit crammed onto every flat surface near the windows, the couch an explosion of colorful pillows and blankets. It has that earthy animal smell he knows intimately overlaid with something floral and sweet, and there's the quiet buzz of a radio playing in another room. Toast and Capable hover in one of the inner doorways, watching him curiously, and he feels incredibly out of place.

“You could walk Dog 'round the block,” he says to Cheedo, trying to gauge Furiosa's opinion, thinking she might appreciate some relative quiet. “With one of your sisters. If it's okay?”

Cheedo's eyes widen to saucers and she turns to her mother beseechingly, clasping her hands together in a silent plea. Furiosa shakes her head minutely as if to herself before smiling at the girl. “Alright, _if_ Toast goes with you and holds the leash.”

Toast visibly considers the idea for a moment but shrugs in acceptance. “Oh thank you!” Cheedo says enthusiastically, leaping from her spot at the table to quickly wrap a hug around Furiosa's legs. She looks like she might try the same to him for a moment and Max tenses, but she settles for flashing him a bright smile. “Thank you Max!”

“Door's unlocked,” he tells Toast, “His leash's attached. Keep a good hold, wrap it around your wrist.” If Dog was to catch sight of something and try to bolt Max was confident that Toast would be enough to hold him back, but the precaution never hurt.

“Be back in half an hour or less,” Furiosa says, “Or I'll sic Miss Giddy on you.”

This warning is enough for the girls to grimace as they pass him by for the front door, and Max wonders what sort of person is named “Giddy” but inspires such a reaction. He watches to make sure that Dog doesn't rush out of the car as soon as the door opens, but the dog waits calmly for Toast to take his lead, and she and Cheedo set off down the street with him prancing along happily.

“Cat?” Max asks, turning back to face the room.

“This way,” Furiosa replies, and leads the way through a narrow hallway to a doorway from which pitiful crying can be heard over the fading radio noise. Capable and Dag follow them, of course, but they're doing a decent job of not crowding him in.

The door opens to reveal a white-tiled bathroom and Max slips quickly inside before the kitten has a chance to escape, shutting the door behind him. The kitten is hidden away behind the toilet and cries almost continuously, the noise bouncing loudly around the small room.

“Shh,” he says, reaching out a hand to it once he's positioned himself to sit against the cool side of the tub, left leg outstretched. The fact that they were able to get the kitten inside suggests that it's had some experience with humans, but it's just as likely been raised feral. He makes some odd clucking noises to encourage it over, and soon enough it begins moving in fits and starts toward him.

The kitten is young, just this side of being old enough to leave it's mother, and a rather pretty calico pattern. Max wishes he had though to bring food with him, or asked Furiosa if she had anything suitable, but there's nothing for it now.

“Shh, shh,” he shushes its crying, a reflexive gesture when faced with a noisy infant no matter the species. The kitten creeps closer and closer until it's brushing against his fingers, and when he carefully begins to move them in small circles it pushes into his hands. Not completely feral, then.

He continues scritching the kitten's ears while he brings his other hand over to carefully run the length of its body, feeling for any obvious injuries. It doesn't protest, soon enough settling right against the warm wall of his leg with an undersized purr.

Max isn't a vet by any means, but he has enough experience with animals to know how to assess body condition quickly. The kitten has a few fleas but no ticks, a decent layer of padding over its bones, no sign of broken bones or cuts. When he picks it up for a closer look the eyes are clear and focus on him easily, the nose free of gunk, gums pink. It's about as healthy as can be expected for a feral kitten, and he wonders if it's mother wasn't a barn cat from one of the nearby farms. One last check determines that it's a girl- not a surprise considering the coloration.

Holding the kitten securely in his arms Max gets to his feet and opens the door, revealing the three women standing around the hallway with anticipatory expressions.

“Well?” Capable says, “Is it hurt?”

Max shakes his head, smiling faintly down at the kitten where she's curled up and purring against his chest. “She's healthy enough,” he says, “Fleas, maybe worms...”

“But it sounded so pitiful,” Capable replies, “Like it was crying.”

Max hums, “It's young, misses her mom. Weaning.”

“So it doesn't need to see a vet?”

“No, the shelter can handle it.”

Capable whirls around to face Furiosa, her bright red hair catching the light. “It doesn't need a vet, that means we can keep it, right?”

Furiosa sighs, “You know why we can't have a cat. We've had this conversation how many times now?”

“But-” Capable starts, cutting herself off when she sees her mother's stern expression. “Fine,” she huffs, “Let it rot away in a cage, see if I care.”

Max wants to point out that a healthy young kitten with such a striking pattern will be adopted easily enough, but he holds his tongue. It's not his argument and he doubts that Capable will find it a comfort, not if she'd set her heart on keeping the cat. She stomps down the hallway back towards the living room, muttering under her breath the entire way.

Dag keeps quiet, but she reaches out to pet the kitten and Max finds that he doesn't even need to stoop over, the girl having grown like a weed in the two years he's known her. Soon enough she'll tower over them all, he thinks, and feels strange to even consider the thought of being there while she continues to grow up.

“Did you bring a box?” Furiosa asks, watching her daughter fuss over the kitten with a fond expression on her face.

“'N the car,” he replies, jerking his head in the direction of the front of the house unnecessarily.

“I'll get it,” Dag says, darting off and leaving the two adults alone in the hallway.

Max would be content with the silence it leaves them in if he wasn't off-balance by seeing Furiosa in her home, in a soft-looking dress that she'd never worn to his store, feet bare against the wooden floors and arm free of her prosthesis. It feels as if he's seeing something he shouldn't, intruding into her life further than he has a right to.

“Why can't you?” he asks to fill the space with something other than his circling thoughts about seeing her in such a setting. It's intimate, his mind supplies, how unguarded she is, more intimate than he has leave to see. “Have a cat.”

“Because the house is enough of a zoo,” Furiosa replies with a lazy shrug. “Splendid- Angharad's cockatiel- usually has the run of the upstairs, and Toast's rabbits Rhyme & Reason take over the downstairs whenever she's home. The fish isn't much of a problem, but we couldn't have a cat in with the rest of them running loose.”

Max hums, strangely pleased with her reasoning. Plenty of people would be happy to shut the other animals up into a cage all day, cat or no cat, rather than let them have any freedom of movement. It does mean that this kitten won't be going to a home he knows and trusts, but he's sure the shelter will be willing to let him keep an eye on her in his shop until a suitable adopter is found.

“Furi-Mom!” Capable calls from the front room, “What if Nux took it?”

Furiosa frowns and walks towards the living room, Max trailing behind for lack of better options. “That boy you're seeing?”

“Yeah,” Capable grins up from the couch where she's sprawled with her phone in hand. “He said he has the room for a cat, and he knows a lot from his job with Max.”

It's not the worst idea Max has ever heard but he has only the faintest idea where the boy is living, doesn't know if it's safe for a kitten. He'd need supplies if he does take her in, flea medication and food at the least. The shelter would have it all on hand but it would need to wait until tomorrow when they open, while Max could open the store up at any time to grab a few things.

He realizes that they're looking to him for an answer and he nods, though why he's the one that needs to give permission is something that he doesn't know. Capable taps rapid-fire on her phone, grinning brightly.

“You have a lot of stuff in your trunk,” Dag says accusingly when she finally returns from grabbing the box.

“Box was on the front seat,” Max replies, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at her. Why was she rooting through his trunk? Never mind that it was just odd-and-ends; samples for the shop, various dog toys, spare clothes, bottles of water- nothing he was worried about being found, at any rate.

She look unrepentant as she hands over the cardboard, offering no explanation for her snooping. Max wraps the kitten up in the towel he'd thought to grab before placing it into the box, warm and drowsy from being held.

Cheedo bounds inside a moment later, looking flushed and happy. “We raced with Dog!” she announces, then turns to Max with a serious expression, “We didn't make him, promise. He wanted to run.”

Max hums and nods his head at her, not worried about it. If Dog hadn't felt like running he doubts the two girls could have made him move above a crawl.

“He's outside, we didn't know if he should go back in the car?”

“I'll get him,” Max says, handing the box with the kitten in it to Capable who's still texting away. The fresh air outside helps to clear his head, lets him dismiss the strange urge to draw out his visit as long as possible. Toast is sitting on the front steps with Dog lying on the grass next to her, idly watching the sunset staining the clouds various shades of reds and purples.

He stands and watches the sunset for a minute himself before she wordlessly hands over the leash and he leads Dog back to the car. The heat of the day is long since passed by now, and he doesn't think Dog will have very long to sit and wait in the vehicle anyway.

As if summoned the rumble of an engine cuts the silence, growing louder until it's pulling to a stop besides the curb. Nux hops off his busted-up moped and tosses his helmet onto the handlebars, throwing out a cheery hello to Max before walking up to the door. Capable tugs him inside and soon Max can hear him cooing over the kitten even from out on the front porch.

Nux can't take a cat on his bike, of course, so Max hands him the store keys and tells him to meet there to grab the essentials.

Capable tries to argue that she should be allowed to ride with him and set the kitten up, but her mother shuts that idea down hard. Furiosa is the one to carry the box to the car, pausing after she closes the door gently so as not to spook the kitten.

“Thank you again,” she says, and Max tries to wave it off. “No, really- if you hadn't helped, the girls would have gotten attached before the shelter opened and then we'd all end up miserable one way or another.”

He shrugs, feeling awkward to receive gratitude for something that he couldn't have turned down if he had tried. Furiosa eyes him for a moment before taking a deep breath. “You open the store at eight? I'll bring by breakfast. Coffee is the least I can do.”

Max wants to refuse the offer, but he thinks about how nice it might be to have her undivided attention for a few minutes, without any kids to interrupt or the span of the counter between them. “Seven-thirty,” he replies, trying desperately to come up with a clever way to ask if she plans on staying to eat with him or would just drop off some pastries and run. He can't get it together fast enough though, because she's already nodding with a slight smile on her face.

“Seven-thirty it is,” she says, and there's an awkward moment where neither of them moves before the kitten cries piteously and Furiosa steps away from the car. Max waits until she's back on the porch before walking around to the driver's side and getting in, ignoring the way Toast is watching him with an amused expression.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have exaggerated when I said I had 80% written, because this keeps getting longer. Whoops.

Max ends up spending far too much of the night helping Nux cat-proof his tiny flat and de-flea the kitten, quietly despairing for the conditions the boy lives in. He resolves to find some way to give him a raise before the year is up, and perhaps to work in a few house-keeping tips if he can manage it.

Regardless of his late night Max finds himself awake in plenty of time to open the shop up early, to clean the cages and finish all the dusting and shelf-filling well before seven has even rolled around.

Dog watches with silent judgment from his bed while Max paces from one display to another, straightening signs and peering into the various cages that line the walls. It's just coffee with a friend, he reminds himself, nothing to get worked up about. The only saving grace was that Nux would be at school all day and not be a witness to this fit of nerves.

A sharp rap at the front door cuts into his circling thoughts, and he straightens from where he'd been bent over the mouse cage to see Furiosa standing at the door, a cardboard box balanced in her arms. It wouldn't have made sense for her to dress in the same overly-soft clothes she had worn the night before but it's still a relief to see her in her usual structured attire, artificial limb strapped into place like armor. Max rushes over to let her in, wondering for a split second if she'd brought another kitten to the shop before the smell of coffee and warm food hits his nose.

“There's a break-room,” Max says as she steps inside, gesturing weakly to the back of the shop with the infrequently used cubby that was mostly used to store spare clothes.

“Out here is fine,” Furiosa replies, setting the box down on the stretch of counter he always keeps clear and beginning to unpack. A pair of paper coffee cups emerges first and he supposes that answers the question of whether she intends to stay or not.

He brings the spare stool around to the outside of the counter for her to sit on, trying and failing to think of something to say.

“Maadie says you're never at the diner for breakfast,” Furiosa says, handing him a faintly steaming take-away carton, “so she made a bit of everything.”

Max is confused for a second before remembering that Furiosa has talked about her connection to The Grease Place before, mentioning in passing how it belongs to women she considers aunts. He opens the container to find a stack of golden-brown pancakes and makes an appreciative noise.

Other cartons reveal hashbrowns (which Furiosa surreptitiously nudges beyond his reach), a pile of bacon and sausage, scrambled eggs, an array of fruit slices, what looks like oatmeal, and a bag of muffins and pastries. Max had anticipated coffee and maybe a bagel, not this overabundance, and the surprise must show on his face.

“They get off on feeding people,” Furiosa says conspiratorially, spearing one of the fruit pieces with a plastic fork before popping it into her faintly smiling mouth.

Max lets out an amused huff of air and busies himself with cutting up the pancakes, trying to think of something he could say to get a conversation going. It's strange to see Furiosa like this, relaxed in a way he doesn't think he's seen before, and as off-kilter as he feels without the ability to fall back into the script of shopkeeper and customer he thinks he might come to enjoy it.

“Fish okay?” he asks after a pause, something he hadn't thought to check in on the night before. He could have taken a look at the tank, maybe, seen if everything really was running the way it should.

“Cheedo named him Mort,” Furiosa informs him, “And he's doing much better than the others.”

Max hums, pleased to hear it; the poor girl really did deserve a break in her string of fish deaths. If no catastrophe befalls the tank he thinks the current betta might actually have a chance at living out its full lifespan.

The silence they end up with as they eat isn't too bad, all told. It's the sort of companionable silence that Max enjoys and is so hard to find, a simple sharing of space without needing to clutter it up with talking. It's equally heartening how at ease Dog is in Furiosa's presence, and he turns a blind eye to her slipping him bits of bacon and sausage under the counter in light of it.

“Capable said that Nux named the kitten,” Furiosa says after she's finished demolishing the carton of hashbrowns, “Chrome something, absolutely terrible.”

“'Calichrome',” Max replies with a nod, “Because it's calico.” The name is silly but he's seen far stranger ones engraved onto nametags, and with a dog named Dog he thinks he's not allowed to judge, anyway.

Furiosa snorts, “That's it. She was up all night texting him, even though she'll just see him in school later anyway.”

Max feels a twinge of guilt; he had kept Nux awake until nearly midnight getting everything squared away. If he had taken the kitten to the shelter instead, the boy wouldn't have been up to bother Capable in the first place. “He's a good kid,” he finds himself saying on Nux's behalf.

“He even still talks like a Warboy,” Furiosa retorts, “I'm not saying he _is_ one, but...”

Max shrugs uncomfortably, wanting to defend his employee but loathe to start an argument. “He's young,” he says, “but he wants out.”

She sighs, eyes dropping away, and he sees her rub the fingers of her flesh hand over the metal of her prosthetic one before focusing back on him. “I know he means well,” Furiosa says, “It's just- Capable doesn't need to get caught up in that.”

He can't meet her intense gaze for very long before his eyes flick away nervously, but Max understands what she means. “He was talking about university,” he says in a rush, “Maybe a vet-tech program. He wants out.”

“I didn't know that,” Furiosa replies, surprise evident in her voice.

Max twitches out a nervous smile, feeling bad to have revealed the information without permission but at the same time relieved that Furiosa seems to be reconsidering her stance on him. “It's a secret,” he says, “Doesn't want to jinx it. I help with the paperwork, how I know.”

When he allows himself to look back at Furiosa there's a pleased smile on her face, and he thinks that telling her was the right decision. “I won't tell,” she says, “But thank you for sharing.”

He hides the rush of chest-twisting _something_ he feels at her approval by raising his cup to drink. There's no more coffee to be had though, and when he looks down at the counter he realizes that they've worked their way though just about all the food.

A knock at the front door has both their heads snapping to see what it is, and with a start Max sees that it's already quarter past eight, high time for him to open the shop.

“I'll get this cleaned up,” Furiosa says, reaching for the emptied cartons strewn across the counter.

Max grunts out something that might pass for “thanks” and walks towards the front door to flip the locks open and let the customer inside. By the time he returns to the counter it's cleared but for the bag of uneaten muffins and Furiosa is slipping the stool back behind the counter.

“Thank you,” he says more clearly when he's in earshot again.

“No worries. I've got to get to work myself,” Furiosa says, “But I was thinking- you're pretty close to Nux, right?” He thinks over his interactions with the boy before giving a tentative nod, allowing the confusion he feels to show on his face. “Would you mind if I got your number, in case something happens with him and Capable?”

Max blinks in surprise, then nods his head. “Yeah, I- alright.” He fumbles towards the drawer for his mobile before stilling- she'd asked for his number, not offered up her own. She has her phone already perched in her palm, and it takes him a terrifyingly blank second to remember what his own number is before he can recite it to her.

A rattling buzz starts up from within the counter's drawers, his mobile vibrating noisily against the rest of the junk in the drawer. He drags the phone out and flips it open to see a text from an unknown number, a simple “thanks :) -furiosa”

He reflexively hitches his mouth into a half-smile when he sees it, strangely pleased that she trusts him with her number after all. He'll save it to his contacts but first, “I, um, I don't text.”

“That's alright,” Furiosa says, “if it wasn't for Capable and Toast refusing to answer calls I wouldn't either.” Max ducks his head, wonders if he should try to come up with a story about Nux's many attempts to get him up-to-speed on modern technology.

“Ex _cuse_ me,” the shrill voice of the customer who knocked on the door cuts in with a poorly-concealed sneer. “My budgie doesn't like that food I bought last time- I want something better this time.”

Max doesn't think he's ever seen the woman before in his life but he nods his head anyway, gears himself up for a day of fending off similar complaints. Furiosa has started for the door but he calls after her, “Thank you again, for breakfast.” She smiles and gives him a lazy wave in return before disappearing out the door.

 

As soon as the kitten gets vaccinated, Nux starts bringing her to the shop. He swears it's to socialize her, which is a noble goal, but Max takes note of the way his eyes jerk to the door every time it opens, a split second of hope in his face before it smooths away to his “dealing with customers” expression.

The kitten- and Max can't quite bring himself to actually _call_ her Calichrome- is nominally leashed with a soft rope harness or else placed into one of the pens they use for displaying shelter cats looking for adopters. More often than not she's in Nux's arms, reaching out at the bright displays as he jitters around the shop, seemingly content to let him do the walking while she surveys her domain.

Nux lights up the second he spots Capable actually walk into the shop, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to get the kitten wrangled back into her harness and out of the pen. Max refuses to admit to feeling a flutter in his belly when he looks to the door for Furiosa, but it seems that it's just Capable stopping by.

“She missed you,” Nux tells Capable, holding the (in truth mostly disgruntled at having been woken from her nap) kitten up for her to see.

“And I missed her! Hello little cutie,” Capable coos, taking the kitten into her own arms before pressing a quick kiss to Nux's cheek. “I missed you, too.”

“Take your break,” Max calls to the boy, “Fifteen minutes.”

Nux's face is bright red but he tosses off a wave and a “Thanks, mate!” before disappearing to the back room with Capable and the kitten in tow. Max isn't worried about the couple getting into any sort of trouble with each other in such a short period of time, especially knowing Nux's work ethic, but he keeps an eye on the clock all the same.

Fourteen minutes pass before they emerge looking no more out-of-sorts than they had before, which sets Max at ease. He really _hadn't_ thought there was any real danger in letting them be unsupervised, but teenagers weren't known for their reasoning skills after all, and he remembers how it was to be young and in love.

“Oi, before I forget,” Capable says as she approaches the front counter, Nux having darted off to return the kitten to her pen. She slides a piece of bright pink paper across the surface, a photocopied flyer of some sort. “Cheedo and Dag have a recital coming up, and they keep bugging Furi-Mom about inviting you.” She shrugs as if she couldn't care less, but there's a certain gleam in her eye that suggests otherwise.

Max stares at her in bewilderment, not sure how to respond. “Recital?”

“Yeah, they take dance lessons. It's their autumn performance, they're pretty psyched up about it.” She taps the flyer with her finger, right over the date. “You've got until the twentieth to let us know so we can get you a ticket.”

Max really doesn't know what to say but Capable turns away without waiting for an answer, evidently satisfied just that the message was relayed. He scans the flyer; it's the sort that he often sees posted up around town, advertising the local dance studio's seasonal “community performances”.

He'd never given them much thought before, couldn't imagine going to sit through one as an adult man without children of his own. Being invited is... He wonders whether Furiosa is even aware or if the girls took it upon themselves, if it was in earnest or if they're just playing a prank. He'll have to ask her, Max decides, when she visits the shop next. He could call, but he's loathe to abuse the privilege of having Furiosa's phone number for something so trivial.

Instead Max pins the flyer up on the noticeboard by the front door, among the lost pet notices and ads for dog walkers. Plenty of customers who might be interested to see it, after all.

 

They're holding an adoption event the next time Furiosa stops by, dogs running around the shop followed by admirers who think that getting up in an unfamiliar dog's face is the best way to win its affections. If no one ends up getting bit by the end of the day it will be a miracle, but Max is leaving the wrangling to the volunteers from the shelter and staying firmly behind the counter, avoiding most of the chaos.

“I see why you like this place,” a voice says near him, not one he recognizes, and he dismisses it until-

“If I'd known it would be this busy I wouldn't have dragged you here,” Furiosa says, and she's obviously replying to the first person but Max turns to greet her anyway.

There's another woman with her that he's never seen before, long dark hair and striking features, and she's holding her arm threaded through Furiosa's. Something clenches in his gut as he takes in the close way they're standing, seemingly deeply familiar with each other, and he turns away. He shouldn't assume anything but it's hard not to, not when he's never seen Furiosa look so comfortable with anyone but her daughters.

“Nonsense! The dogs are adorable, and I'm out of cat food anyway,” the stranger replies. Her eyes scan over him assessingly, and she sends a friendly smile Max's way that he returns with a blank stare before quickly flicking his gaze to the next customer that steps up to the register. When he looks up next the two women are gone, lost in the maze of aisles.

He feels ashamed a second later, for acting like he has any sort of right to feel- he hesitates to name it, but it's hard to mistake- jealousy, or something close to it. Furiosa's just a customer, someone he might even call a friend, not anyone he has any sort of claim over. If anything it's a sign that he needs to distance himself from her, if he's letting himself get so mixed up over simple friendly interactions.

“You're Max, right?” The dark-haired woman is standing at the counter, a brightly-colored cat toy in her hands and a pleasant smile on her face. Furiosa is nowhere to be seen. “You don't have a nametag but you look too old to be Nux, so.” She sets down the toy and extends one of her hands, which he reluctantly takes after realizing she wants to shake. “I'm Val, Furiosa's sister.”

The surprise must show on his face because her smile widens, not unkindly. He hadn't thought that they looked anything alike, but then- he knows that Furiosa's daughters aren't biologically related, is it really much of a surprise? He ducks his head to try and cut off his embarrassment from view, grateful that he hadn't found the time to trim his beard down and it can disguise some of his flush. “Max,” he affirms, focuses on ringing up her purchase.

“She's not bothering you, is she?” Furiosa says as she appears from the bird aisle, a bag of seed in hand.

Max shakes his head, and Val lets out a laugh. “I've only been out of your sight for thirty seconds, Furi,” she says lightly, “Even _I_ need more time than that to get on someone's nerves.”

“Four thirty-six,” Max says awkwardly, reminding her of the half-finished transaction. She hands over a credit card that lists her real name as Valkyrie, and he would have pegged it for a fake if he hadn't already gone through all that with Furiosa, years ago now. Unique names seem to run through their metaphorically-shared blood, if her daughters are anything to go by.

“Where's Dog?” Furiosa asks, peering around the counter as if he'll materialize out of the shadow.

“Home,” Max replies, “Too many new dogs; he's not good with strangers.”

Val shoots Furiosa a look and makes a quiet “Uh-huh,” which earns her a barely-visible elbow jab and a pointed look in return. He feels as if there's a conversation going on between the two of them that he's missing, and he's not used to feeling quite so out of his depth when dealing with Furiosa.

“I wanted Valkyrie to meet him,” Furiosa tells Max, “She designs prostheses.” She waves her left arm vaguely so that the sleek metal lines of her own artificial limb flash in the shop's lighting. It looks subtly different from the last time he saw it, and Max wonders if he should really be paying that much attention to it in the first place if he can tell at a glance.

“He's fine,” Max says, having already had this conversation with her, “Wouldn't know what to do with a fourth leg.”

He had adopted Dog with his hind leg already gone, lost in an accident on the track, and had never seen the dog bothered by it at all after the first few weeks. He wobbles a bit when he tries darting at full speed across the lawn- but that could also be his enthusiasm, tail wagging so hard it blurs to invisibility.

“Well, if you change your mind,” Val says, and slides a business card across the counter top. “Animals don't tend to mind as much as people, but sometimes it helps.” Max dutifully tucks it into one of the drawers he uses for record-keeping, already knowing he won't use it, before ringing up Furiosa's purchase.

“Where's Nux?” Furiosa asks, “I want to have Valkyrie give him a scare while she's in town.”

Max quirks an eyebrow and reassesses the woman besides Furiosa, this time taking in the weathered leather jacket, the dark feathers tangled into her hair, the sturdy riding boots, and what looks like a set of knuckle-dusters attached to one hand. She's a shade taller than Furiosa and just as strong looking; together the two make an imposing pair.

He shouldn't allow them to terrorize his employee, especially during work hours, but there's a lull in the shop's activity and he admits to being drawn in by the almost mischievous glint in Furiosa's eye.

“I'll get him,” Max says, quickly locking the register. The shop is far too small for any sort of intercom or pager system, but it's not long before he finds Nux in one of the aisles. “Register,” he says gruffly, jerking his head towards the out-of-sight counter.

“Taking a break?” Nux asks with false innocence, “I think I saw Furiosa come in a few minutes ago...” Max scowls, but the boy just smiles unrepentantly and heads for the front. Nux pulls up short when he rounds the corner and sees the two women waiting for him, expressions dark and body language closed-off.

“Heard you've taken a shine to my sister's kid,” Valkyrie says, not very subtly runner her fingers over the studded weights fitted to her glove.

Max steps aside to get a clear view of both parties while Nux stammers out an answer.

“You're a Warboy, so I know you've heard of the Vuvalini.”

Nux's eyes widen in surprise but he nods. “'M not a Warboy,” he says in a small voice.

Valkyrie makes a fluttering motion with her hand, dismissing the distinction. “Point is, you know how we take care of our own. If I find out that you've even thought of hurting Capable...” She trails off, then snaps her hands together sharply. “Well, let's just say that things won't end well for you.”

Nux looks genuinely worried by the threat- partly, Max assumes from what he knows of the boy, because the thought of intentionally hurting Capable is upsetting enough.

The women stare at him for a long minute before Val abruptly brightens and relaxes from her intimidating stance. “Now that's settled, I think you owe me lunch?” This she says to Furiosa, who turns from Nux as if he's beneath her notice. They grab their shopping bags and stride out of the shop, leaving a shaken Nux and quietly amused Max in their wake.

“They wouldn't really kill me, would they?” Nux asks quietly once the bells over the door signal their departure.

“Would you hurt her?” Max asks in reply, willing to prolong his fear a little to drive the message home. He doesn't think Nux has anything to worry about, not with how carefully he tries to separate himself from the attitudes of the gang that swallowed his brother alive. And from what Max remembers from his stint on the MFP, the Vuvalini are more the type to break an abuser's arms and leave him for the police to find than to go through the trouble of disappearing him altogether.

“Of course not!” Nux says indignantly, “I would never lay a hand on her, not like that. I'd sooner cut myself up again.”

Max nods, reaches up to lay a hand on the boy's shoulder to steady him. “Nothing to worry about then,” he says. Nux doesn't look entirely convinced but he takes a deep breath and nods, expression resolved.

“I won't ever hurt her,” he promises, “And if I do, I won't fight 'em when they come for me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind words, I really appreciate the support and once again apologize for not being able to reply directly! *kisses each of you gently on the forehead if you're comfortable with forehead kisses from an internet stranger*

The recital flyer keeps catching Max's eye whenever he looks towards the door, the garish pink paper standing out among the rest of the more subdued adverts. The twentieth looms ever closer and if it was just a prank to unsettle him then he thinks that the girls have well and truly succeeded. Capable stops by often to take up Nux's time and she seems to smirk whenever she passes it by on her way into the shop proper, but Max is relatively certain that's just his own imagination working against him.

He's determined not to call Furiosa to ask about it, but it seems to take an age before she visits the shop once more and he finally has a chance to ask her. Toast and Cheedo are with her and he hesitates, but they detach themselves to disappear down the aisles, leaving their mother to wander over to the counter.

After exchanging a nod of greeting with her Max waits a beat and then says, “Capable's been by.”

“She hasn't been distracting Nux, has she?” Furiosa replies, and he shakes his head.

“Mentioned a, uh, a recital?” he says, and jerks his head towards the pinboard. Furiosa follows his gesture to take in the pink flyer, something like surprise and maybe embarrassment in her expression.

She closes her eyes and mutters something under her breath that he doesn't catch, before refocusing her gaze on him. “I didn't realize they had roped Capable into it,” Furiosa says with a rueful shake of her head. “Cheedo and Dag got it into their heads to ask you to come.” She sighs, and flashes an apologetic smile. “Sorry they bothered you about it.”

Max shrugs uncomfortably, he wasn't bothered to have it brought to him but he is glad that he's not actually expected to give an answer to their invitation, “S'okay.” At least it wasn't entirely a joke at his expense; though why the girls would have wanted him at their dance recital in earnest is something he still has no way to explain. Some part of him wants to ask, but the rest is content to let the awkward situation lie.

“Dag still asks about lizards,” Furiosa says after a moment, indicating with her hand one of the neat rows of cages just visible near the back of the shop. “She's old enough to have her own pet but reptiles...”

He's grateful to return to the more familiar ground of animal care questions and picks up the topic readily. “Are tricky,” Max fills in when she trails off. And expensive, he doesn't say, if you want to keep them properly. Even the short-term terrariums he has for the shop are complicated, well beyond the scope of what an eleven-year-old could be expected to manage.

She nods with something like relief on her face. “I didn't get a chance to say no to the fish,” she says, “and it wouldn't be a terrible idea for her to have _something_ \- but not a lizard. Or a snake, or newt, or any of the other slimy things she's tried telling me about.”

“Cockroaches,” Max suggests, lighthearted and a little bit teasingly, “Tarantulas.” He doesn't stock anything more exotic than bearded dragons and the occasional turtle, but there's a wide world of strange pets that a determined girl could dive into.

Furiosa glares halfheartedly at him, the effect ruined by the corners of her lips twitching up into a smile, “You're lucky she's at home or I'd kill you for giving her ideas.”

Max hums consideringly, his own face drawing into an answering smile. “Mammals are easiest,” he says as a more serious answer, “A hamster?”

“Too mundane,” she replies, “and small.”

“Guinea pig?”

“Don't those make noises? The bird is enough of a chatterbox.”

“Rats.”

“I'm not dumpster-diving for a pet.”

Max shakes his head, then steps away from the counter completely and gestures for Furiosa to follow him. She trails behind reluctantly until they're in front of a glass-front cage holding a pair of rats, one sleeping and the other watching the humans approach with wide eyes.

He unlocks the cage and dips his hand in, letting the rat sniff at him before gently picking it up. It's a dumbo with ears set low on its head, fur a mix of soft tan and white. Sometimes the rats he carries end up as food for reptiles that won't eat frozen but they're mostly bought as pets, hand-tame and eager for human contact.

“It's cute,” Furiosa says, as if she's offended by the very idea when he holds it out for her to see. The rat stays in Max's hands easily enough, but it reaches out to greet the newcomer readily when Furiosa carefully extends her fingers to it.

“Quiet, sturdy, unusual,” he tells her, “Social though- need a pair. Don't last long either, three or four years.”

Furiosa pets the rat for a moment longer before pulling back. “I'll think about it,” she says, and he hums in response, pleased to have found a potential solution. Max puts the rat back in with its brother and re-locks the cage just as Toast strolls into view, a bag of bedding held in her arms.

“Furiosa, Cheedo's looking at the goldfish again,” she says in a bored tone, eyes flicking between her mother and Max. Furiosa sighs and strides off to handle the potential disaster, leaving him to Toast's keen scrutiny.

“Cheedo really does want you to show up at the recital,” she says after a long moment of staring. Max doesn't know what to make of this comment so he makes a wordless questioning noise, wondering how it is that everyone in that family has the ability to throw him off-balance so easily.

Toast rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath that he doesn't catch before turning to walk away, leaving Max standing in confusion in the middle of the aisle.

 

A minor emergency keeps Max at the shop until well past dark, frantically shuffling around his aquarium system until the cracked tank is disconnected and no longer flooding the shop. A particularly obnoxious child hadn't heeded his order to stop tapping on the glass, a lucky strike creating a long thin crack in the glass that immediately began gushing water. Getting that tank emptied revealed that another was leaking at the seams, sealant gone dried and useless over time, resulting in a rather large patch of mold on the shelving unit that needed to be taken care of immediately before it spread any further.

It is of course raining when he finally locks up and gets Dog loaded into the car, the sort of slow steady downpour that lingers for hours without ever getting particularly forceful. His knee is throbbing with the pressure of it, but not badly enough to herald a proper electrical storm. A mercy, because if the shop were to lose power overnight he would come in to find his tanks devastated by the lack of heat and filtration and all his previous effort wasted.

It's been just that sort of night, so Max really isn't surprised when the car begin sputtering, engine hitching and revving until it gives a great belching cough and slides to a stop. He waits a moment before starting it up, but it chokes out again a few meters down the road.

After it dies for a third time he spends a solid thirty seconds gripping the steering wheel tightly with his eyes clenched shut, resisting the impulse to start hitting the dashboard or begin yelling. Doing either would startle Dog, and not do anything to solve the problem, so instead Max forces himself to take deep breaths.

“Stay,” he tells Dog needlessly, unbuckling to see if perhaps it's something that can be fixed quickly. The stretch of road he's on is far enough away from the main town that he doesn't fancy the idea of hiking it, but even if the tow company will send a truck out there won't be any room for Dog.

Max was already damp from the aquarium mishap but he's soaked within minutes of standing in the rain, bonnet of his car raised and flashlight directed towards the innards. Nothing's smoking or obviously damaged, and with the poor lighting and lack of tools there really isn't much more he can do at the moment.

Defeated he slams the bonnet down and slinks back into the car, shedding his soggy top layer and grumbling under his breath. Dog picks up on his mood, whining slightly as he sticks his head between the front seats to get closer to Max.

“Need a tow,” he says as he scratches the dog's ear. “Think you'll be okay staying in back?” He can picture Dog panicking at the angle the towed car would have to assume as it's dragged away, jolted to and fro without Max there to calm him down and keep him steady.

He shakes his head in answer to his own question. There won't be room for a greyhound in the cabin of the tow truck, if they even let dogs ride upfront at all, which means that's not an option. The thought of walking all the way to his apartment has his knee aching preemptively, but he could take the next day to recover if need be.

“Too bad Nux has a bike,” Max says, although the mental image of Dog sitting in a sidecar with a pair of goggles on his face is enough to dredge up a small smile.

Goose would be willing to give him a lift, if he isn't on duty, but the thought of dragging him all the way out here seems like too much to ask. Max isn't nearly as close with any of the other officers as his former partner, even if the old Captain does live nearby, and is loathe to call in a favor from one of them. He doubts a cab company would even be willing to venture out this far, shudders to think about what their fee might be if they were.

With a groan of resignation he pulls out his mobile to call the town's one tow company. The entry for “Gary's Garage” is easy enough to find in his sparse contacts list, but it's the name right above that gives him pause. Furiosa had given him her number so she had a way to keep tabs on Nux, but he wonders how she would feel about his asking for a lift, for Dog's sake.

According to his phone's clock it's only just past nine, and her beast of a station-wagon would definitely have room for Dog. The thought of inconveniencing her almost makes him dismiss the idea, but- his knee does ache and he's not sure Dog would appreciate the long walk either, and he selfishly thinks about getting to see her outside of the shop once more.

He dials the garage, tells his location to the bored dispatcher. “I have a dog with me,” he adds.

“All animals must be in a carrier no larger than a half-meter in any direction,” the voice tells him blandly.

Max shakes his head in frustration and grunts, though the information is what he expected.

“I suggest you call a friend,” the dispatcher says without a trace of real sympathy. “The truck will reach you in about forty minutes.”

“Thanks,” he replies grudgingly before hanging up. Max brings up the contacts menu again, hovers over Furiosa's name before sighing deeply and pressing it.

The phone rings once, twice, and he's about to hang up and berate himself for thinking to bother her when it picks up.

“Hello?” There's some indistinct noise in the background that fades away, punctuated by the soft click of a door closing.

“Furiosa?” he says, “It's Max.”

“Mhmm,” she breathes into the phone, “Is something the matter?”

Max takes a deep breath and holds it for a beat. “Sorry to bother you. My car broke down,” he says, “I called for a tow but Dog's with me.”

“And they won't let dogs into the truck,” Furiosa surmises. “You need a lift?”

“If it's not too much trouble,” he says quietly. Though she doesn't sound annoyed Max still feels guilty for even bringing it up. “Please.”

“Alright,” she replies easily, “Where are you?”

He tells her and apologizes again for being stuck on a back road a fair distance from where he remembers her own house to be. “Uh-huh, well I can be there in about half an hour.”

“Thank you,” Max says earnestly, and only shuts his phone after Furiosa hangs up, promising to be there soon.

The tow truck shows up first, apathetic driver taking down his information and hooking up the car. “Mechanic'll call in the morning to sort out the payment,” he says, “can't say how long 'till the car gets seen.”

Max nods and grunts in reply, wishes he had a jacket or umbrella stashed in the car that he could use to stay dry, his already sodden over-shirt doing nothing. Dog doesn't mind the rain much but he'll get chilled if they wait for very long, his fur too thin to offer much in the way of insulation. The driver offers to stay and wait for Furiosa with him but Max waves him off, seeing no sense in keeping him out in the dark and rain as well.

It isn't much longer before a car drives into view, headlamps cutting through the rain and illuminating the street. Max keeps back from the road until he recognizes the shape of Furiosa's wagon, slowing as she tries to get a look at him through the gloom.

He sticks his thumb out as if hitch-hiking, nods to himself when the headlamps flash before the car slides to a halt a few meters before him.

When Max stoops to peer into the cracked-open passenger's window Furiosa's calls out with humor, “Cash, ass, or grass, man." The unexpected joke startles a laugh out of him, and he sees her smile in return from the driver's seat. “Got towels for Dog down the back,” she says, nodding her head towards the rear of the wagon.

The raised hatch of the rear provides enough cover from the rain that Max takes a minute to quickly towel Dog off, ridding the worst of the wet from his fur, though the unfortunate wet-dog odor will probably still linger. After securing the leash he jogs back to the front, is handed a towel of his own as he slides into the passenger seat. He takes it with a grateful hum, strips off his soaked outer shirt to briskly rub dry his chilled skin.

When he emerges from toweling off his hair, surely now standing up in every direction but at least no longer dripping down his face, he catches Furiosa jerking her gaze away to stare out the windshield.

“What's you address?” she asks, hands busy putting the car into gear.

“Apartment's on Terrill Ave,” he replies, “by the old paper mill.”

It's as strange to be in her car as it was to be in her home, and Max feels off-kilter with just the tapping of rain on the roof to underscore the silence.

“I didn't know you had a tattoo,” Furiosa says quietly as she navigates the slick roadway.

Max cringes reflexively and brings a hand up to where the inked wings curl over his shoulders; he had forgotten that it would be visible without his usual button-down in place. The cover-up isn't particularly ugly but it's large, spanning the breadth of his shoulders and dipping down nearly half the length of his spine. He grunts awkwardly, but feels strangely compelled to give her a proper answer.

“MFP logo,” he says, “A cover-up. Original was... well, uh, it was a dare.” It had been a god-awful wolf to match the rest of his mates, done in the garage of a remedial twelfth-year who ordered a tattoo gun out of a catalog and had barely known what to do with it. The tattoo had promptly gotten infected and nearly melted his skin off; the only parts recognizable after it had finally healed were the eyes, staring with cross-sighted judgment any time he took his shirt off. “Was a dumb kid, before I joined the Patrol.”

“Hard to believe,” Furiosa says quietly, and the words have an edge of teasing to them but-

He shakes his head, though with her eyes on the road she won't see the gesture. “Grew up in the bush,” he says, the honesty coming easy in the quiet and dark, “Practically feral. Fast cars, cheap booze, no one for miles...”

He trails off, shaking off the memories of bonfires, fights, races, near-crashes; always pushing for faster and further and _more_ , trapped in a too-small settlement that barely deserved to be called a town. Max had driven circles around the local police force on the sanded-out roads for years, flaunting his ability to evade them until they called in for MFP backup.

“Got caught up in it, till I was offered a choice- recruitment, or jail,” he shrugs again, feeling as if he's exposing too much of himself in response to her innocuous question but unable to stop now that he's started. “Saved my life, probably.”

The Mainland Freeway Patrol was new then, underfunded and badly in need of people who already knew the streets to ride out on them. When he was finally cuffed the Captain had driven him around the roads instead of hauling him straight back to the station, driving as fast and reckless as Max ever had while explaining how he could make something of himself, instead of continuing to waste his life wandering the outback.

There's silence for a long minute, just the quiet _shush_ of rolling tires on the pavement before Furiosa speaks. “I ever tell you how I lost the hand?” She slants a look at him, the both of them well aware that the topic of their respective handicaps has been scrupulously avoided thus far in their acquaintanceship. “You should ask me sometime.”

Max hums out a response, tucking the offer away in his mind to turn over later, a little bit surprised by the fact that she's even willing to broach the topic at all, and lets silence fill the cab.

They pull up to his building, Furiosa slotting the wagon into his usual parking space and cutting the engine. The rain has slowed to nothing more than a drizzle, foggy and damp in the air. Max can't meet her eyes but there's something he needs to ask, before he loses the courage he scraped up along the ride home. The streetlamp is out and the car's interior is dark, quiet without even the patter of rain.

“Would-” he starts, pauses to shake his head and then retries, the words sticking awkwardly in his throat. “It's late, now, but another time. To thank you. I'd like to, um, make you dinner?” He darts a look at Furiosa, feeling as though he's in free fall, not knowing if he's about to survive the landing.

Silence drifts between them for a long moment while Max waits for an answer, mind already racing with apologies for overstepping his bounds, mistaking their interactions for something that isn't there.

“Would this dinner be just a 'thank you' between friends,” Furiosa asks carefully, staring out the windshield determinedly when Max hazards another glance at her. “Or, would it mean... something more?”

She doesn't sound disgusted or angry when she asks, voice containing hints of something he hesitates to label but almost comes across as hope. Words he might say in answer snarl themselves into a useless tangle in his head as he thinks this over, wonders if he's just projecting his own desire into her answer.

“We could have dinner as friends,” she continues when he can't make himself say anything, “It doesn't have to mean anything else, if you don't want it to.”

The inflection in her voice draws him up short- if _he_ doesn't want it to mean anything? How could Furiosa not be aware of how desperately he looks for excuses to spend time with her, how far his regard for her goes? Max has worked so hard to stifle his emotions to not make her feel uncomfortable but he still can't imagine that he's been anything less than glaringly obvious.

“No, um,” he says haltingly, mind still whirling, “I would- I'd like that. If you?”

Now Furiosa turns in her seat to face him, for all that he can't look her directly in the eye. “Max, the Aunts have a betting pool going on when I'd ask you out. You haven't ever hinted at being interested in anyone before... I never wanted to push you.”

Max feels the urge to laugh bubble up in him- she didn't want to push _him_? He can't summon up the words to express himself but he lets his eyes settle on hers, hopes she reads his incredulous expression.

A self-depreciating smile ticks up the corners of Furiosa's mouth. “So we've both been fools, then,” she says.

He shrugs in answer with his own smile, wonders how long they've been working at cross-purposes, keeping their interest tucked so far away the other had no chance of knowing it existed. “Friday?” he asks, “I'll cook.”

Furiosa shakes her head, “Toast has a game. I could do Saturday?”

With an affirmative hum and a strange sense of detachment they hash out the rest of the details. It doesn't seem quite real to Max in the dark of the car, with the drizzly mist rolling around past the windows. The situation continues to feel surreal until he's standing in the doorway of his flat, Dog's damp lead clutched in his hand, one of Furiosa's towels slung around his shoulders.

Max can't quite believe that he's actually gone and set up a date with Furiosa, that it had been as simple as just _asking_. He leans against his closed front door for a long minute, replying the conversation in his mind while something warm and fluttery fills his chest, until Dog brings him back to the present with an impatient tug on his still-attached leash.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait; have an extra-long chapter and a rating increase!

Max has to leave the shop closed the next day, taking the bus over just long enough to see to the animals before checking on his car. He doesn't like leaving Dog alone for too long, even if he'll be fine in his crate, so he's relieved when the mechanic says the car should be fixed by the next day. It means two whole days of the shop being closed but there isn't anything he can do about it, lacking the ability to take the repairs into his own hands or slide extra cash to the garage for a better turn-around time.

Without anything better to do Max cleans his apartment with a dedication he usually reserve for the shop, sweeping into the nooks and crannies between furniture and restlessly picking up the clutter that's mysteriously taken over every flat surface. It's not that he ordinarily lives in squalor, but after a long day of cleaning up after animals the last thing he wants to do is clean up even more, so things tend to build up.

Dog watches with a long-suffering expression from the couch until he's forced back to his actual dog bed on the floor so Max can vacuum the sofa. Inviting Furiosa over to his place was a bad idea, he thinks as he surveys the cramped living room. Everything is careworn and covered in dog hair, even after he's vacuumed for long enough that the basement apartment had started knocking on their ceiling to get him to stop.

The flat is about as clean and straightened as it will ever get by the time his car is ready to be picked up, and he's glad to escape back to the shop and the distractions it offers.

 

By Thursday there hasn't been any word from Furiosa that she's changed her mind or needs to cancel, but some part of Max is still waiting for the call. He busies himself with tidying up the shop at every opportunity, trying to take his mind off the nervous anticipation growing in his chest as Saturday draws nearer. He even finds himself going through old boxes of promotional samples tucked away in the storeroom, writing up special sale signs to keep his hands occupied.

He's setting up one such impromptu display, a handful of dog toys from a company that doesn't exist anymore tucked into the end-cap of one of the aisles, when the bell above the door rings. Max turns to take in the customer, almost dismissing them at the sight of long hair and a flowing dress before their face registers in his mind as someone he does actually know.

It's not often that Angharad comes into the store anymore, not since she found an after-school job that keeps her busier than not most days, but she's certainly no stranger. Which is why it's odd for her to sweep her eyes over Max as if assessing him, something challenging in her expression.

“So,” she drawls, “Word on the street is you finally wised up and asked my mom out.”

Max freezes in place, toy in hand squeaking sadly as his fingers spasmodically clench around it. His face flushes a hot red and he feels caught out, exposed as if he's done something wrong. That Furiosa did most of the asking seems irrelevant when he considers how her daughters might object to him.

Angharad smirks at him, “Oh don't worry, we all agreed not to interfere. It's about time, really.”

“I have to tell you though,” she leans in and drops her voice, as if imparting a secret. In this moment Angharad looks nothing like the child he taught to clip her bird's wings, tears streaking her face at the thought of hurting it; she looks like the woman she's already becoming, as fierce as the rest of her extended family. “If you hurt her? I don't care that you're still cozy with your old cop buddies. They will _never_ find your body.”

She seems to be waiting for an answer so Max hazards a nod. That he would do everything in his power to avoid hurting Furiosa goes without saying- just the thought of deliberately causing her harm has an icy tendril of dread curling into his chest.

But he knows that Angharad isn't talking about physical harm; he doesn't doubt that Furiosa could match, if not best, him in a fight, wouldn't hesitate to throw him over his ass if he ever so much as thought to reach out to hit her. The implication that she might let him in past her defenses far enough to cause pain of another sort is- terrifying, he thinks is perhaps the best way to sum up the roil of emotions the thought drags up.

Angharad searches his face for a moment longer before pulling back with a satisfied nod. “Glad we had this chat,” she says with a smile, and turns on her heel to sashay away from where Max stands rooted to the spot.

When he regains enough presence of mind to finish stocking the display and return to the counter, there's an envelope with his name waiting for him. Max opens it carefully, as if it might somehow be booby-trapped, but sees nothing more than a cardstock ticket and a slip of lined paper. The handwriting on the note is unfamiliar, a bubbly girlish script that he sincerely doubts Furiosa penned, and it reads: “Doors open at six. Cheedo likes yellow carnations.”

The ticket is, of course, for the girls' recital happening the next week. Max stares at it in bewilderment for a moment before tucking it back into the envelope, then sliding it into the drawer alongside his still-silent mobile. He had thought that the matter was closed but it appears that Furiosa's daughters are taking things into their own hands, and at this point he thinks he doesn't have much of a choice but to follow along.

 

By Saturday a strange sort of calm has settled into him, even when he endures Nux's good-natured teasing. It's too late to cancel gracefully, so unless Furiosa decides to just not show up at all Max can only assume the date will continue as planned.

After some thought he moves Dog's crate to his bedroom and shuts him away with water and a few of his toys. As comforting as Max ordinarily finds his presence, he thinks it'd better to not have the option to divert his attention, and the quiet staring that he's unmindful of might not make the best atmosphere for a date. So into the bedroom Dog goes, which also puts to rest any question of things getting physical, should the night not end in disaster. Max had hesitated over the display of condoms when he was buying ingredients, but in the end decided that even “just in case” felt like too much of an assumption.

The recipe he's cooking is easy enough, chicken carbonara being the one “fancy” pasta dish he had learned to cook back when he was still dating Jessie. Combined with pre-mixed salad, store-made garlic bread, and a wine bought on the recommendation of the least-dubious of the town's bottle shops it makes a serviceable meal.

As seven-thirty draws nearer Max sets the table and looks over the room with a critical eye for anything he might have missed. His small dining table is ordinarily crammed against the half-wall of the kitchen but he'd dragged it further to the middle of the room so there would be space for both chairs, and better lighting to see by. He doesn't own a tablecloth but the surface of the table isn't too badly dinged up, and after much debating he had decided that putting candles or flowers on the table would be too much. Far too much.

“Be good, Dog,” Max says as he gives him a hollow toy filled with peanut paste, kneeling down to rub at the nonchalant dog's ears. Dog doesn't seem to mind being shut behind the door but he does pause in licking away the treat to snuffle at Max's fingers, which he finds strangely fortifying.

Furiosa doesn't ring ahead, but a few minutes past the agreed upon time there's a knock on the door, and Max pauses to take a deep breath, gathering his courage and wits before opening it.

It's no less strange to see Furiosa on his doorstep than he had imagined it would be. She's not dressed up exactly, but somehow her outfit seems like it wouldn't be out of place in a far nicer surrounding than his poky flat, and he's struck by how lovely she looks even under the dim porch light.

“Hey,” Max says a bit dumbly, already fumbling for words.

She quirks a smile at him, “Hey yourself.” Her eyes flick past him to focus on the apartment behind him and Max belatedly moves away from the door, motioning for her to come inside.

“Dinner's almost ready,” he says as she steps past the threshold, some sort of barely-there perfume wafting up to him as she brushes by.

“Smells good,” Furiosa tells him with an appreciative sniff. She holds up a small wooden crate that he hadn't noticed, unlabeled brown bottles nestled inside. “I brought beer,” she says, “KT's home brew. A bit strong but I'm told it goes with everything.”

Max nods and reaches out to take the crate from her arms, starts carrying it over to the kitchen. Furiosa follows him, peering around the flat curiously.

“Where's Dog?” she asks, the corner where his crate usually sits feeling conspicuously empty to Max's own eyes.

“Crated him,” Max says, pauses as he reaches the kitchen counter and sets the box of beers down next to the unopened bottle of wine. “Table manners aren't the best.”

Furiosa replies with an understanding noise and doesn't call him out on the white lie. Max wonders if he should offer to give her a tour, though there's really not much more to the flat than his closed-off bedroom, which- no. He turns to the stovetop to stir the pasta sauce instead, busying his hands.

“This for tonight?” Furiosa asks, and Max looks over his shoulder to see her inspecting the bottle of wine.

He nods his head and hums affirmatively, turns back to the stove to the sound of her popping open the cork. “Glasses on the table,” he adds in case she wanted to pour herself a glass while he finishes the food.

The timer dings and Max opens the oven to get the garlic bread, forgetting until he hears Furiosa's snort of amusement that his oven mitts are still the novelty ones Goose had given him after he opened the shop. A cat grins blankly up at him from his left wrist, the matching droop-eared dog staring into space on his right, and Max hides his sudden flush by sticking his face a little closer to the heat of the oven than strictly necessary. He's not the type to fill his spaces with tacky themed decorations, but they had been a gift, and since they worked fine he'd never gotten around to replacing them with a more sedate set.

He can hear Furiosa's light footsteps rounding the corner out of the kitchen, and takes it as his cue to finish up. The pasta is a little dry from when he's pulled it out of the water earlier, but the sauce covers it easily when it's all mixed together, and the garlic bread just needs to be set onto a plate and cut into sections.

When he re-enters the living room with a serving dish of pasta in one hand and garlic bread in the other he sees that Furiosa is studying the photographs hung along the wall, a contemplative expression on her face.

“I didn't think you'd really been a cop,” she says, nodding at the framed snapshot of him and Goose standing besides their first patrol car in full uniform, grinning like they had won the lottery instead of just the keys to a beat-up old heap of scrap metal.

“Yeah,” he replies warily, sets the dishes down at the table between the salad and bottle of wine. Furiosa spends another moment looking over the photos before joining him at the table. From the way she'd been taking in the wall of pictures he half expects her to start questioning him about it, but she just picks up her glass of wine to swirl it around while she surveys the food he's laid out.

“And you made this all yourself?” she asks teasingly, puts down the glass to start adding salad to her plate, picking out the tomatoes to set aside as she goes.

“Grew the grapes from seeds,” Max replies dryly which earns him a huff of amusement, and he picks up his own wine glass to take a sip. It tastes exactly the same as every other red wine he's ever had, and he wonders if Furiosa's palate is any more refined than his, if he should have just grabbed the cheaper option after all. “Made the pasta,” he adds as a more honest answer.

“It's good,” Furiosa says after she's had a few bites, and he ducks his head. It's a simple enough recipe but he'd spent time on it, and he's pleased that she's enjoying it. “Garlic bread on a date though,” she says as she breaks off a section of the loaf, “Bold move.”

The implication of why it should matter has something fluttering through his gut, but he refuses to back down. They were, after all, on an actual date and kissing was far from an impossibility, if he doesn't manage to screw up too badly. Without over-thinking it he grabs a piece for himself, “We'll match.”

Furiosa lets out a surprised laugh in response and Max can't help but smile even as he drops his head to focus on his plate. They spend a few minutes eating in comfortable silence while he wracks his brain for topics to ask about. He was technically invited to bring up her missing limb, but that feels far too heavy a subject for a first date, and he doubts she wants to hear about the customer who screamed at him for not knowing what food their cat was allergic to.

“So,” Furiosa says before he can settle on anything of his own to say, “Why a pet store?”

Max tilts his head in confusion, sets down his fork and hopes she'll expand on the question.

“I can guess at why you left the force,” she continues after a moment and he nods; they've never discussed the brace he wears but it's not a hard story to figure out. One too many crashes and all you're fit for is desk duty, something Max could only endure for a few short months before leaving entirely. “And it's clear that you love animals.” Also obvious, considering he spends most of his time taking care of them in one way or another. “But your own shop... That's a pretty big leap to make.”

“The owner was selling,” Max says after thinking it over for a minute, “Seemed a waste, if it closed. I like animals, had credit with the bank... It worked out.” He shrugs, unable to really sum up in words the series of decisions that led him to the purchase. It had made sense at the time to have a slice of something he could control, something that didn't do anyone harm, where he could improve the lives of animals and people both. Owning a pet shop was a pretty big change from gunning cars as fast as they could go in pursuit of criminals on the open road, but as steep as the learning curve had been it wasn't something he could bring himself to regret.

He looks up to see Furiosa regarding him contemplatively before focusing on taking a sip from her glass. “I once swore up-and-down I'd own a horse farm,” she says, “The Mothers were still mostly mobile back then, so I used to dream about all the farms when we'd pass them by.”

The image of a young Furiosa rebelling by wanting a parcel of land is startlingly adorable, but Max finds himself distracted by her choice of words. “The mothers?” he asks, sure that there had been some sort of emphasis on the words, as if it was a name. He regrets the question as soon as it's asked, especially when he see the way her face turns startled for a moment, before the expression melts away to something guarded and a little wary.

“My Aunts,” Furiosa says, “Growing up they were the Many Mothers, one of their-” she waves her hand in vague twirls through the air- “separatist lesbian feminist biker-gang decisions.” There's an underlying challenge in her tone, as if she's waiting for him to make a joke of it, but Max only nods and lets out an understanding hum. This shred of history fits surprisingly well with what he knows of her, even discounting the connections he was already aware of to the Vuvalini.

“When they 'sold out' and bought the diner,” she continues after taking stock of his non-reaction, “they decided to go by Aunts, at least in public.”

Max nods his head again, tries to think of something suitable to say and not dwell on what possible reasons there could have been for the slip to happen in the first place, since it was clearly unintentional. “Makes sense,” he says at last, and then to steer the conversation back from its detour prompts with a quizzical expression, “A farm?”

It's not so awkward, once they've felt out where the topics to be avoided lie. Max learns that Furiosa has her birth-mother's old motorcycle in her garage in a perpetual state of disassemble, something to tinker with when she needs to feel close to her. In turn he shares a few stories of his misspent youth, describes some of the more colorful characters he'd encountered while patrolling the highways.

 

When the plates are stacked in the sink they migrate to the couch, neither seemingly willing to end the night quite yet. They've finished the wine and each cracked open one of the beers Furiosa had brought, the alcohol not doing much through a stomach full of rich food but just softening the edges a little, loosening Max's tongue until he's speaking as comfortably as if it was just him and Dog.

He's not quite sure how it happens, but in the middle of a fairly heated debate about how best to reform members of the local gangs (Max in favor of personal intervention, Furiosa arguing for system-wide changes) Furiosa kisses him, lips warm and soft.

Max is stunned for a moment, mouth still lax with aborted speech, and before he can bring his mind around to the situation she's pulling away. “Sorry, that was-”

He cuts Furiosa off with a kiss of his own, to which she eagerly responds, breathing out a soft sigh against his mouth. His eyes close against the intensity of her gaze and lets himself sink into the sensation of her lips moving against his.

Her flesh hand reaches up to cup the back of his neck while she uses the prosthetic one to balance herself, pushing into his space until he's flush against the back of the couch. Max lets his own hands rest on the curve of her waist, grounding himself with the feeling of solidity.

He thinks he might be content to just make out like a pair of teenagers but Furiosa rolls sinuously forward, and the press of her body against his is electrifying. She breaks the kiss to gasp and he takes the opportunity to move to mouth along the line of her jaw, only half hearing the words she's saying.

“Could have- ah!- been doing this ages ago,” she mutters while he dips down to kiss and nip at the length of her neck, careful not to leave any marks. The though of her wearing a bruise from his mouth on her skin has Max shivering, but he's aware enough to recognize that leaving one in such a visible location would probably end in his death. Instead he responds to the hand tugging at his hair to meet her mouth again, sinks into another deep kiss.

The warm weight of her body against his has his dick starting to get hard and he's not sure if that's too much for the situation, so he pulls his hips back against the instinct to rut forward. But Furiosa swings one of her legs forward to fit between his, lets out a pleased noise when her thigh slides against his growing erection, and he supposes that answers the question.

Without warning Furiosa breaks the kiss to unbuckle her prosthesis' straps, pulling the whole thing off and twisting around to set it gently on the coffee table next to their empty bottles. She shucks her shirt and then pauses to shoot him a look, gesturing to his own clothes. Max is struck dumb by the sight of her newly-bared skin and can't comprehend the wordless request, but she has no patience for it.

“Off,” she hisses, tugging at the buttons on his shirt until enough are undone that he can shrug out of it, peeling off his undershirt at the same time. Furiosa runs her hand down his chest appreciatively, the touch causing him to shudder and lean in to capture her mouth in a kiss once more.

Max's hands flutter uselessly against the skin of her back before bringing one up tentatively to cup her breast, the weight of it soft and warm in his hand. She makes an appreciative noise against his mouth and pushes into the contact so he finds the nipple with his thumb, gently rubs back-and-forth over it through the fabric of her still-clasped bra.

He'd been growing hard since almost the first press of her lips but now he aches with it, erection trapped beneath the thick denim of his jeans and the hot press of her body. He spares a second to regret not buying condoms after all when she thrusts her hand between them, cupping her fingers around where he bulges at his jeans in an evaluative manner.

Max pulls away from the kiss to shake his head. “I don't have,” he says, “I didn't...”

“Plenty we can still do,” Furiosa replies breathlessly, drawing her hand away. Reflexively he licks his lips and her eyes zero in on the movement, an almost-predatory smile growing on her face. She shuffles back on the couch away from him until she's pressed up against the armrest, one leg trailing to rest on the floor and the other cocked up at an angle against the back cushions.

“Well?” she asks, bringing her hand down to touch the fly of her jeans.

Max takes in the sight for a moment before groaning hungrily, pressing forward to kiss her once again. His hands fumble with the buttons of her jeans but they're soon defeated, pulled off to pool on the floor along with her underwear.

He takes a few seconds to just rest his hand against the newly-exposed tangle of hair, feeling the warmth of her against his fingers before breaking the kiss and moving his head down. Furiosa makes an encouraging noise when he reaches the level of her crotch, flicking his eyes up to meet hers before focusing his attention on her cunt. Kneeling isn't something he can do for very long but with a bit of maneuvering he manages to find a position that keeps most of his weight off his bad knee while still allowing him to be right where he wants to be.

Rather than jump straight in he noses along the muscles of her inner thigh, pauses to land a hard sucking kiss on the delicate skin there. It's a location that won't be seen should it truly bruise over, but the sight of the already-reddening mark sends a hot shiver pulsing down his dick. He should have asked first but Furiosa doesn't seem to object, if the ragged breath she sucks in is any indication.

With one hand Max holds her hips steady, more for his own benefit than to truly keep her pinned, the other parting her labia to fully expose her soft folds to him. He swipes the flat of his tongue from her entrance up to the peak of her clitoris, just savoring the warm clean taste of her. Furiosa lets out something near to a gasp and brings her hand down to pet over his hair, encouraging him on.

It's been a while since Max has eaten someone out, but the process is easily enough remembered. He spends a lot of time on her clit, alternates soft movements of his tongue and lips with harsher sucks, moving down to circle around her entrance every so often until she's pulling at his hair and hissing at him to hurry up and stop teasing.

What does her in is a gentle scrape of teeth just barely pressing against the nub of her clit, the contrast of the hard surface or perhaps the hint of danger pushing her over the edge into orgasm. Max removes his hand from her hip to let her buck against him as she rides the aftershocks, brings it down to palm his aching erection through his still-buttoned pants.

“Max,” Furiosa groans out, tugging lightly at his hair. He hums in response but stays where he is, keeps laving his tongue against her in slow movements until her cunt has stopped spasming. He has a feeling that she could keep going, wants to see if he can wring another orgasm out of her.

He draws away a bit, earning a small distressed noise, but only enough to bathe two of his fingers in spit for extra slick before bringing them up to circle at the entrance to her vagina. Max tilts his head up to look her in the face, feels a shiver run through himself at the heat he sees there still. Furiosa bucks her hips against his fingers and he grins, refocusing his attention on her cunt. Inside she's warm and wet and soft, muscles contracting around his fingers greedily as he gently presses against her walls.

Her hand leaves his hair and when he flicks a glance upwards he can see her playing with her breasts, pinching at the stiff peaks of her nipples where she's pulled down her bra. The sigh of it makes him groan and grind the heel of his hand harshly against his erection before pulling it away entirely to join hers, massaging the soft weight of her other breast.

His fingers he rubs against the front of her vagina while he focuses his mouth on her clit, enjoying the way she shivers under his attention. It takes longer the second time, but eventually she shakes apart again, the contractions of her climax unmistakable against his fingers even as she gives a wordless moan of pleasure. This time when she digs her hand into his hair she pulls harshly, dragging him away from her cunt. “Come _on_ ,” she hisses, “Get up here.”

Furiosa seals her mouth to his the second he's within range and he groans at the thought of her tasting herself on his lips. Max works his jeans open, his erection springing gratefully into the air, and wraps his hand still slicked with her fluids around himself.

He has no illusions about his stamina at this point, and when she brings her hand down to tangle with his own it's the end for him. He breaks the kiss to bury his face in her neck, spilling over their fingers with a groan.

They stay slumped together for a long few minutes, kissing on and off until their hearts slow and the position becomes more and more uncomfortable. Max is loathe to move but his knee aches where it's awkwardly crooked off the side of the couch, and reluctantly he peels himself away.

“I shouldn't have done that,” Furiosa says a little mournfully and he freezes in alarm, eyes jerking over to read her face. “I don't put out on the first date,” she elaborates, and when the words register as a joke he huffs out a disbelieving laugh.

“Second,” he counters, “Breakfast was first.”

“Hmm,” Furiosa hums as she considers the idea, “I thought that was between friends?”

Max shakes his head, “It counts.”

“Well then, my honor is preserved.”

He smiles lazily at her, feeling loose and sated in the aftermath, considers keeping up the banter but decides it would take more energy than he has to give. With some space between them and the haze of lust dissipating he can finally see her fully, finds his eyes tracing the silvery lines of old scars along her body and wonders where they're from. One leg has a long line of healed road-rash, a mark that he knows well from seeing it on his own skin, but there's a mysterious snarl of tissue on the side of her ribcage that has him worrying, even when it's obviously an old injury.

“Shower?” he offers as the sweat and spilled cum begins to dry in uncomfortable ways, nodding his head towards the bathroom.

Furiosa looks down at herself and grimaces, prods at the smears of his cum on her stomach with the stub of her arm. “For the best,” she agrees, and with a wistful sigh leverages herself off of the couch.

It's past dark by the time they're both clean and dressed again, but what buzz the alcohol had provided has long since worn away and it would be impractical to entertain the idea of her staying any longer. Max imagines what the girls' reactions to her staying the night would be and has to suppress a flinch, a vivid image of the five of them storming his apartment at first light flashing through his mind's eye.

“Thank you,” Furiosa says as they hover by the door, “This was- I though it went well, anyway.”

Max ducks his head and smiles, “Can I see you again?”

She raises an eyebrow at him, her expression open and teasing. “I'm moving to Greenland in the morning,” she deadpans, “didn't you know?”

He doesn't dignify the joke with more than an unimpressed look, but Furiosa smiles anyway. “Of course,” she says, “I'll need to look at a calendar but yes, I would like to do this again.”

A knot of worry Max hadn't even known he was carrying loosens in his chest and he leans forward to press a quick kiss to her lips, feeling lighter than he has in ages. He watches from the front door until she's in her car and driving away, one last look exchanged between them before she turns a corner and disappears from sight.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone, your support means the world to me and I'm thrilled that you've enjoyed this silly little story! Here is the final chapter, though I do hope to have a short epilogue up at some point; I hope it ends on a satisfying note for y'all. ♥

The quiet elation Max feels lasts through the rest of the weekend, until it's Monday and he's back to dealing with irritating customers and being up to his elbows in dirty animal cages.

What he doesn't remember until far too late is that Nux is scheduled to come in and work after he's finished with school for the day. Max only needs to take one look at the barely-contained mirth in the boy's expression before he's turning on his heel to retreat back down the aisles.

“Max~” Nux calls in a sing-song tone, drawing out his name into at least three unnecessary syllables as he follows him deeper into the shop. It's a cold comfort that there aren't any customers in the shop at the minute to overhear, he could use the excuse of waiting on them. “I heard your date night went well.”

“Inventory,” Max grunts in an attempt to head off the conversation, gestures to the already perfectly-arranged shelves in front of him as if they need his undivided attention.

“'Course, Capable didn't want to think about the details, it being her mom n' all,” Nux continues unabated, “But she said that a certain someone got home _awful_ late for just a dinner-date.”

Max closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before turning back to face his shop-assistant with what he hopes is a stern expression. “Not up for discussion,” he says, but has a sinking feeling that evading the conversation entirely is a lost cause.

“So it went well then,” Nux surmises, still grinning. Max narrows his eyes and tries to ignore the fact that he doesn't even have a height advantage against the lanky teenager. “She didn't spend the night though, couldn't have gone _that_ well.”

And that right there is wholly inappropriate. “Nux,” Max says, completely serious, “Out of line.”

There's a moment where the smile is frozen on Nux's face and it looks like he wants to argue, but Max folds his arms over his chest and stares him down, not at all kidding. “I'm just teasing,” he replies with confusion furrowing his brows. “I don't mean anything by it, you know that, right?”

“I'm your boss,” Max says, “and that was inappropriate.” Not to mention that Furiosa was his girlfriend's mother, and should really garner more respect as well. That Nux would speculate about their personal lives like this at all, let alone to Max's face, is a reminder of how young his assistant really is.

Nux mulls it over for a few seconds before nodding, still looking mildly confused but with embarrassment creeping in. “Sorry,” he says in a much more subdued voice, “I really didn't mean anything, was just talk.”

Max just hums in acceptance of the apology rather than absolve the misstep. He knows that it's the boy's first job, that without any role models he doesn't precisely know the boundaries of things, and while he certainly doesn't blame Nux for it he won't pretend to sweep it aside for the sake of his feelings, either.

Thankfully the bell above the door chimes as someone enters the shop, the perfect cue to break the awkward tableau. There's still some teasing about the date over the course of the day- Max isn't lucky enough to escape that fate entirely- but Nux makes an effort to keep it lighter, less as if Max was one of his friends from school.

It's a small mercy that Furiosa only rings him after the shop is closed and Nux has been sent home, or else he'd never hear the end of it. Max's still too disconcerted by phones to feel comfortable drawing out the conversation beyond the necessities, but he manages to make plans to meet for dinner and a movie the following week. It's enough to have him grinning to himself in the privacy of his flat as he dwells on the fact that Furiosa hadn't planned to brush him off after all, that she really does want to see him again.

 

Max doesn't quite realize that he's made up his mind to attend the girl's recital until the day of, when he's staring at the printed ticket and wondering if he should close up a little early to take Dog home, or risk bringing him along. Furiosa had apologized for her daughters inviting him but she hadn't actually said that she didn't want him there, and it was open to the public, after all. The girls obviously wanted him to come, for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom, but if Furiosa objected to his presence he wouldn't have a problem leaving.

The shop is quiet and empty by half-past-five, so Max doesn't feel too badly about shutting up a little bit early. “Wanna see a show?” he asks Dog, leaning down to scritch at his ears. Dog doesn't answer, just begrudgingly leaves his cushion when Max clips on the leash.

There's plenty of time to drop him off at the apartment, but Max finds himself pulling into the parking lot of a corner store advertising flowers instead. He checks against the note tucked into his pocket what type to buy for Cheedo, and after some deliberation adds a second sprig of blue carnations for Dag. If he was going to follow the note's suggestion to get Cheedo flowers there was no reason to stint the other girl, and they were cheap enough.

He makes it to the recital space- one of the public buildings the town rents out, the front of which is currently plastered over with a large and very glittery sign advertising “Miss Millie's Dance Studio's Autumn Spectacular”- only a little after six. No one stops him from bringing Dog in with him, the ticket-taker just asking the usual questions of "how does a dog with only three legs get around, anyway?"

When Max gets inside and surveys the dim sea of folding chairs and anonymous backs of heads he thinks maybe he should return home for the night after all. They're still setting up it looks like, so his leaving won't cause any sort of disturbance if he slips back out.

Just as he turns to leave the shape of someone approaching catches his eye, and he reflexively steps to the side to let them pass in the narrow aisle.

“Max!” Capable says as she draws near, not a stranger walking by after all. “I thought that was Dog I saw.”

He makes some wordless noise of assent as she bends to let Dog sniff at her hand, gives him a quick few pats under his chin.

“Come on, we're all sitting over there," she waves to indicate a section near to the stage, "Dog can't sit in the aisle so he should have the spot by the wall I think, but we'll have to shuffle.”

Max doesn't think he has much of a choice in following as she leads the way down to where the rest of her family is sitting. Angharad looks pleased when she catches sight of him and Toast smug, but Furiosa seems honestly surprised.

“Max?” she says questioningly, and he thinks he must have chosen wrong after all. Her eyes dart from him to her daughters, then narrow in understanding. “I thought we agreed we weren't going to bother him,” Furiosa directs at them, but the three of them have matching looks of faux innocence.

Max shifts uncomfortably, gaining her attention once more. “I can leave,” he offers, gesturing weakly to the back of the hall with the hand still holding the flowers he'd bought.

“No, no,” Furiosa replies, “You're here now.”

“Furi-mom,” Capable chimes in, “Dog should have the wall seat, shouldn't he?” This necessitates everyone getting out of their chairs for Max to shuffle in, earning a few annoyed remarks from the people seated around them. He finds himself sitting on a rickety folding chair with Dog somewhat awkwardly settling to one side, Furiosa on the other.

He's trying to find a way to apologize for intruding and offer to leave again (though the mechanics of how, now that he's pinned in place by the entire family, elude him) when Furiosa speaks. “You brought flowers,” she says quietly, turning in her seat to scrutinize him.

“Ah.” Max follows her gaze to look down at the carnations, which had at the time seemed like a good idea, and is glad for the dimness to hide the way he can feel himself flushing. “Got a note, with the ticket. Yellow for Cheedo,” he says, “Wasn't sure for Dag.”

“A note?”

He hums, “Dropped off at work.”

Furiosa half-turns to where the girls are sitting on her other side, ignoring the both of them in a particularly obvious way that only teenagers seem truly capable of, before shaking her head slightly as if to dismiss whatever it was she was thinking.

“They'll be thrilled,” she says, and offers up a small smile.

Max relaxes a bit, returns her smile with a relieved one of his own before the lights abruptly flicker off. There's some halfhearted screams and nervous laughter from other chairs in the audience but enough of the room remains illuminated thanks to the stage lighting that it doesn't set his own heart racing. He still can't help but jerk his gaze away from Furiosa to do a quick check of the darkened room, however.

“It's not a long show,” she says, reminding him of why the lights went out in the first place, barring some sort of a technical error. “Cheedo's in the second set, and Dag's in the fourth.”

He hums in response, darts a look to see her straightening in her seat as the opening strains of a song starts playing.

The recital begins and it's- well. What it is is a bunch of strangers' children gamboling around the stage in glittery outfits and not a lot of coordination, for the most part.

Max admires Cheedo's enthusiasm when it's her turn to perform, dancing cheerily through two songs he's not familiar with, twirling with abandon even when the other dancers are still. As one of the older students Dag's set is somewhat more complex, with an attempt at story-telling from what he can tell. There seem to be an awful lot of ribbons involved for some reason.

“Three more groups,” Furiosa whispers to him with something like resignation in her voice once Dag bows and leaves the stage to the sound of prosaic clapping.

Max makes a quiet noise to let her know he's heard, tries not to focus on the way her shifting has pressed her leg up against his, warm in the dark of the auditorium. The rest of the recital he tunes out for the most part, just tries to enjoy the wash of forgettable music until it fades away and the lights over the crowd flicker back to life.

“No one fell this time,” Toast says a little mournfully, which earns her a stifled huff of laughter from one of her sisters- Capable, he thinks.

“It's not funny when people get hurt,” Angharad replies with a certain resignation that suggests this is not a new argument, and Max can just about see Toast's face clearly enough to predict that she's about to say something in retort.

Furiosa cuts off whatever she might have said by standing from her seat, flicking her hand down the row of chairs as if to usher them along.

“Come on, Dag and Cheedo will be waiting,” she says, before twisting to look back at Max. “We always meet up by the dressing room, but...” she trails off, and Max wonders whether his being unrelated to any of the dancers or his being male is the bigger obstacle. “They might not let Dog through.”

He admits to having not thought of that, regardless of whether it's just a tactful excuse or not. It is after all one thing to let a well-behaved dog sit in the audience, another to let him backstage.

“I'll wait here?” he offers.

“Probably for the best,” Furiosa replies, “We'll just be a minute.” He nods his head and she slips out to join the river of people heading for the doors by the stage, daughters in tow.

Sitting alone in the rapidly-emptying audience of a children's dance recital is enough to earn a person more than a few suspicious looks, Max soon discovers. Thankfully it really isn't too long before most of the people have left, and one of the doors opens to reveal Furiosa and the girls. Cheedo's still dressed in the glittery pink outfit she danced in and when she sees Max and Dog heading towards them, flowers awkwardly clutched in his hand, she lets out a shriek of delight.

“You came!” Cheedo shouts, then whirls to stick her tongue out at Dag. “I told you he would, so there!” Max can't help but smile at her obvious joy, but takes note of the uncharacteristically shy look Dag is giving him.

“Are those for me?” Cheedo asks, reaching a sparkling hand out to point at the flowers.

“Mhm,” Max hums in reply, separates the yellow bundle to present to her. She grins widely and clutches at them as if they're worth far more than the few dollars he spent, starts thanking him profusely. “And you,” he says to Dag, holding out the second set of carnations.

She spends a long moment looking between the flowers and his face a little distrustfully before finally taking them.

“Thank you,” Dag says, still much more subdued than he's used to, but after fiddling with the petals of the flowers for a moment the small smile on her face grows to match her sister's.

Satisfied Max directs his attention back to Furiosa, wondering if he should conjure up praise for the performance or just make his exit. There's always Dog to act as an excuse, though he seems content enough to continue being fussed over by Cheedo.

“You're coming to the diner with us, right?” Capable asks before he can decipher the fond way Furiosa is watching her two youngest into a hint as to how he should be acting. Max jerks his attention to the redhead, a questioning look on his face. “It's tradition,” she adds, which really doesn't clarify much of anything.

“I'm sure we've taken up enough of his evening,” Furiosa says with a quelling look, but Max finds himself answering before he can really think about it.

“Okay,” he says, but nods his head to indicate Dog. “He welcome inside?” When Max was new to town he'd asked about bringing Dog inside The Grease Place, and the resulting argument that had erupted had him avoiding the place (and Furiosa, when he recognized her as the woman doing most of the yelling) for months afterwards. He doesn't expect her to remember the incident, it having been nearly six years in the past, but to his surprise she looks mildly chagrined.

“It won't be a problem,” Furiosa replies, “The Aunts close early on dance nights, so it'll just be us.”

He nods, and when Cheedo pulls away from Dog to start detailing to her mother exactly what she wants to order he awkwardly confirms that he'll see them there and heads for the door.

 

Max doesn't deliberately drive slowly or take the long way round to the diner, but when he pulls up to the nearly-deserted parking lot he's relived to see Furiosa's wagon already pulled into a spot. Trying to explain why he's there when the sign on the door prominently reads “CLOSED” would likely not have gone over well, even without bringing the issue of Dog into the picture.

The woman who opens the door isn't one he recognizes from his fairly infrequent visits to the diner, but she seems to know him if the smirk is anything to go by.

“Max, is it?” she asks, and he nods warily, but she just steps out of the doorway and waves him in.

“Over here!” Cheedo calls out as soon as she catches sight of him, as if the table the family is sitting at isn't the only occupied one in the diner.

Furiosa and her daughters are crowded onto half of the pushed-together table, two more elderly women he doesn't recognize taking up seats at the other end. Dog pulls a little at the leash as he sniffs the air eagerly, the smell of the working kitchen and so many people exciting him as much as seeing Cheedo reach out to call him over.

“You can hook the leash onto the coat-hook,” the woman who let him in says, and points at the hooks set into the wooden sides of the booth. It leaves Dog enough slack to come close enough for petting, but not so much that he can slip under the table, get in the way of the chairs. He'll probably end up trying to climb onto the booth's cushion's by the end of the night, Max thinks, and resolves to keep an eye on him.

With a touch of reluctance he takes a chair in the middle for himself, Cheedo to his left and a still-empty spot on the right. Furiosa's at the head of the table just far enough away that conversation would probably be difficult, but not impossible.

“Who's the man?” asks one of the women across from him at the table none too quietly, one he doesn't recognize at all.

“That's Max, Auntie Sanna,” Angharad replies. “He runs the pet shop.”

“He got me flowers,” Dag puts in from besides her, and Max realizes that both bunches are set into glasses of water in the middle of the table.

The open distrust in the woman's expression changes to something more evaluative as she continues to scrutinize him, and Max shifts uncomfortably in his chair. But rather than address him directly she turns to her companion next to her. “That's who all the fuss what about?”

Whatever the other woman says is too quiet for him to hear, and drowned out by Angharad speaking over her anyway. “Auntie Sanna's just visiting,” she says, “She doesn't come around much, prefers being on the road.”

Max hums and nods his head, unsure if he should attempt to introduce himself to her directly since apparently some description of him has reached her already. She seems pretty set on talking around him though, and truth was he didn't mind one less person to talk with in a crowd.

“Oh, and that's Aunt Mozzie she's talking to. She settled here after a crash a few years back, only ever goes out when Sanna's there to take her,” Angharad says offhandedly. He wonders if he's supposed to know the names of the rest of the women and doesn't dare ask, hopes his ignorance doesn't end up offending someone.

“Max,” Cheedo says with a light tap from his left, drawing his attention and shedding glitter onto his clothes, “What'd you like best? From the dance.”

It's hard to remember any of the details of the recital, beyond sequins and movement, which he doubts will be a good enough answer for her. “You twirled well,” he tries, and she smiles encouragingly. “And... The jumps, at the finale.”

This seems to satisfy the girl because she claps her hands together delightedly. “I practiced a lot!”

He nods, then on a hunch directs his attention to where Dag sits quietly, fiddling with the cutlery at her place setting. “Your ribbons were pretty,” he says, and she looks startled to be addressed but smiles after a moment's hesitation.

At the end of the table Capable and Toast sound like they're arguing about music, or maybe something that was borrowed without permission. Max can't catch the details for all that they're talking loudly enough to be heard clear across the room.

“I found a lizard,” Dag says in a conspiratorial whisper, barely audible over the loud conversation happening besides her, “Furi-Mom won't let me take it inside.”

“Wildlife belongs outside,” Max says, deciding to not even go near the topic of why wild animals shouldn't be messed with at all.

She rolls her eyes at him but adds, “It has _two heads_! I gave it a cricket and they both tried to eat it.”

“Dag, gross,” Angharad breaks in, “No talking about your freaky lizard when we're at the table.”

Dag pulls a face, “There isn't even any food yet.” Her sister just stares her down until she relents, grumbling but dropping the topic of lizards for the time being. Max wonders if he should try to have a talk with her about the dangers of handling wildlife at some point, at least to remind her to wash her hands when she's done.

“Where is the food, anyway?” Sanna asks, still making an effort to ignore Max. She twists in her seat to look towards the kitchen's open counter. “We're gonna starve out here!” she calls, which earns her a swat on the shoulder from Mozzie besides her.

“Sanna, behave,” she says, but she's drowned out by raucous shouting from the kitchen, taunts and jeers that sound vicious and good-natured by turns. The younger girls at the table giggle while the older teenagers mostly look various shades of resigned or embarrassed at the adults' behavior. For his part Max just feel out of place, acutely aware of being an outsider at a family gathering.

“They do this every time,” Furiosa's voice cuts in from her end of the table and he turns to her with some measure of relief. “Especially when there's company.”

The back-and-forth dies down after a one of them belts out a bawdy rhyme that obviously has history among them, from the cheers it elicits. Max wonders if it's really appropriate material to have shouted in front of children, but he supposes that even if it was his place to say, he's certainly never heard any of the girls speaking like that anyway.

The kitchen door gets kicked open to reveal two women holding up platters of food, a third juggling a stack of glasses and a water pitcher. “Who ordered the roach special? The fried centipedes? Got some real nice beetle soup!”

Cheedo squirms in her chair besides Max as they approach, makes grossed-out retching noises. “I wanted pancakes!”

Across the way Dag grins mischievously, “They ran out. So now you have to eat _bugs_!”

“Mooom,” Cheedo whines, “I don't have to eat bugs, do I?”

“They also do _this_ every time,” Angharad informs Max in a bored tone while Furiosa reassures her youngest, “And Cheedo keeps falling for it.”

The women reach the table and hand out plates, none of which contain any (visible) insects. Max isn't sure what to expect to find handed to him- he wasn't even sure the Aunts had known he would be here until he showed up- and is pleasantly surprised to see that his plate contains an open-faced sandwich that he'd ordered a few times in the past.

When the food and water's been passed out one of the women drops down into the seat next to him. She looks vaguely familiar, but the diner uniform she's wearing doesn't have a name-tag. “Your dog need to eat?”

Max shakes his head, “Fed him earlier.”

She nods to herself and then picks up her fork, stabs it rather viciously into a pile of greenery on her plate. “We don't see much of you 'round here,” she says, staring steadily at him, “Why is that?”

Max looks back at her in confusion, not sure if he's made some misstep.

“It's not the food,” she continues, “As if _that_ even needs saying. So you're what, scared? Hiding something?”

“Auntie Keep,” Angharad says weakly, but the old woman just waves a forkful of greens at her dismissively.

“I don't, uh, get out much,” Max offers uncomfortably, feeling as if he's being scolded for doing something wrong but not having any idea what it might have been. Across the table Sanna snorts, evidently listening in as well.

“Better be all it is,” Keep says with a squint-eyed glare, but that seems to be all she has to say on the topic because she turns from him to start discussing the state of her garden with the woman to her other side.

By the time everyone has finished eating Max is utterly exhausted. Keeping up with as many conversations as had been flying around would have been difficult for him on a good day, and the Aunts were practically a force of nature in their intensity. He'd had to slip away for a moment in the break between the dinner plates being cleared away and desert being brought in, glad to have the excuse of stretching Dog's legs.

It's a relief to step out into the open night air again after the second round of energetic conversation. Max somehow has his hands full with a box of day-old pastries and leftovers, so Furiosa ends up holding Dog's leash as they walk to their cars.

“Thank you for showing up,” she says quietly, “The girls were really looking forward to it.”

He hums, glad that for all the awkwardness it had been the right decision. They get Dog settled into the backseat and the boxes arranged in the front, and then they're standing between the side-by-side cars, and Max suddenly remembers the way she had lingered by his car the night he came to pick up the kitten.

If she'd been interested in him even then... He finds himself looking between her mouth and eyes, leaning in slightly and hoping he's not misreading her intent this time, and is rewarded when she meets him halfway for a kiss. Mindful of the children (And surprisingly licentious old women) he assumes are watching it's light and quick; he'd almost call it sweet, if only for the remains of sugar from desert lingering on their lips.

There's some sort of conversation going on between the girls in the station-wagon besides them when they break apart, which Max only tunes into halfway until he realizes what, exactly, it is he's hearing.

“You've seen me kiss Nux before, and we're not married.”

“But you're not a mom- moms only kiss dads! So if she kissed Max it means he's our dad.”

“That's... really not how it works.”

“And what about when there's two moms? Or two dads?”

“But this time it _is_ a mom and a dad!”

Max turns from staring at the car in horror to look and see Furiosa's reaction, only to find her holding a hand over her mouth to smother a laugh. Whatever she sees on his face sends her over the edge, and the sound of her laughter has his own mouth fighting to contain an answering smile.

“Married before the third date,” he scrounges up the words to say, “You _do_ work fast.”

Furiosa's sniggering increases, until after a long moment she's shaking her head and attempting to reassert control over herself. “Apparently I need to have a talk with Cheedo about feminism,” she says when she's found her voice again, “But let's try for at least one more date before the wedding.”

“Wouldn't want to rush,” Max agrees, mock-solemn. The actual idea of it in all seriousness isn't something he has any intention of contemplating for a good long while, but he tucks it away into a far corner of his mind rather than discarding it entirely, just in case.

She presses another quick kiss to his still-smiling lips before pulling away to open her car's door, demanding to know where Cheedo had gotten her information about kisses and relationships. The girls call out goodbyes to Max with varying tones of cheekiness as they drive away, and he waves to them in reply as the warmth of the evening settles snugly into his chest.

He could get used to this, he thinks, intimidating dinners with Furiosa's extended family included, and it's not even half as terrifying a thought as it might have once been.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue, as promised!
> 
> There will be some more in this 'verse in the hopefully-not-so-distant future (Short side-fics and a less-fluffy prequel from Furiosa's POV if you're into that sort of thing), but this story is finished.

Their fifth official date is spent talking, perhaps too frankly, about what each of them wants to get out of the relationship, where they see it going.

Furiosa can't let herself get wrapped up in someone who has no plans to stay, not now that there are her daughters to consider, and for his part Max admits that he hasn't been in anything resembling a serious relationship in over a decade and doesn't have much practice at them. But he's never been one for short-term flings, and he's willing to try if she is.

Four months later, Max spends the night at Furiosa's for the first time. Dog is with a sitter and the girls are all out at sleep-overs (or, in Angharad's case, touring a uni campus), and while they've managed to spend time at his flat before it feels different, important, that he's allowed to be in her space.

The night does not go anything like planned- Cheedo apparently picked up a bug at school, and had just enough time to pass it on to her sisters. Instead of a romantic night in it becomes one of checking fevers, emptying buckets, running out to find an open pharmacy, phoning the Aunts for advice and support. The truly shocking thing is how little Max finds he actually objects. It was certainly not an experience he would call _enjoyable_ , but when the whimpers have given way to sleep at last and it's him and Furiosa curled up on the couch surrounded by the girls, it's perhaps not so bad.

Two more months and he has his own drawer in her dresser, then a section of the bathroom counter, then a spot on the chore wheel pinned to the fridge. Not long after that Max comes to find that he can no longer sleep easily without a second body in the bed with him, and discovers that Dog makes a wholly unsuitable substitute.

They have another conversation, this one spanning two days because the need to run claws up Max's throat when he gets hit with the realization that this could be _it_ , this could be his life from now on.

He spends a restless night letting the thought play out in his mind, compares the possible futures side-by-side until he identifies the twisting in his belly as something closer to anticipation than fear when he pictures growing old with Furiosa. When he finds her again the next morning the words don't come easy (they never do) but he forces them out all the same, lets her know that he can't imagine a future without her and the girls in it anymore.

The lease on his apartment comes up three months later; he doesn't renew it.

Max wakes up in the mornings to Furiosa warm in his arms, to shouted arguments over bathroom space, to demands for animal-shaped pancakes. He learns how to braid hair half a dozen ways, how to apply nail polish with a steady hand, begins to understand when to listen and when he needs to actually talk.

It's not perfect or halfway easy, not by a long shot. There are fights, and tears, and a few nights when one or the other of them can't stay in the house for another minute without going mad. The girls are loud and messy, Furiosa has the most appalling taste in movies, Max is incapable of learning how to work the laundry machine, and somehow there are never enough spoons to go around.

But at the end of the day he looks forward to coming home to the sort of family he'd long since given up on wanting, let alone having.

It's not perfect but it fits, and for the first time in a long time, Max is truly happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Cheedo is seven, Dag is eleven, Toast is thirteen, Capable is sixteen, Angharad is eighteen, and Furiosa is forty. Nux is seventeen, and Max is thirty-eight. Dog is about nine.
> 
> [Visual aid for Dog](http://www.greyhoundlifeline.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Bobby-three-legs.jpg). Greyhounds really do have stupid racing names that most people change when they're adopted off the track; I saw the opportunity and couldn't resist.  
> [Cheedo's (latest) fish](https://c1.staticflickr.com/9/8099/8634075416_7807a653ce_b.jpg), Mort  
> [Nux's kitten](http://www.catbreedspic.co/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/cute-calico-kittenstop-10-cutest-calico-kittens-cute-n-tiny-vzt5lsle.jpg), Calichrome  
> [Main Force Patrol Logo](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/roadwarrior/images/5/5d/Mfpbadge.jpg), the basis for Max's tattoo.
> 
>  
> 
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> 
> [Obligatory tumblr link](http://v8roadworrier.tumblr.com)


End file.
